A Study in Scarlet
by Chloe Winchester
Summary: Something is plaguing Patrick Jane. At first, he simply thinks he's having vivid nightmares, but when the nightmares follow him when he's awake, the currently detained Winchester brothers thing it may be something far more sinister.
1. Seeing Red

--Ok, so this is the 2nd official crossover that I've done. I hope you guys like it! May be spoilers up to both episodes points (just a fair warning) No slash, no wincest. Thank you and enjoy!--

**Supernatural: After Abandon All Hope**

**The Mentalist: After His Red Right Hand**

**A Study in Scarlet**

1

**Seeing Red**

Patrick Jane had had trouble sleeping for the past six years. In fact, the only place he got any real rest was at the CBI headquarters on his couch. On the nights he did manage to get to sleep, he saw their faces. Smiling, screaming, happy, bloody. Sometimes they hugged him. Sometimes they blamed him for his death and moved farther and farther away so he couldn't get to them.

He didn't dare let his colleagues know or see the thoughts and nightmares that plagued him every day of his life he had to live without them. And he didn't let them know that they had become more and more vivid recently. He'd slept a whopping four hours last night but with enough tea he'd be right as rain.

"Good morning," he said, smiling as usual. He sat down on his couch, laying back and shutting his eyes.

"Don't get comfortable," Lisbon said. Lisbon and Rigsby jumped away from each other. A ghost of a frown crossed Patrick's face before he opened his eyes and sat up, smiling.

"What's up?" He asked.

"DB out in Davis. They've already arrested the guys that did it," Lisbon explained.

"Then why are we going, Boss?" Rigsby inquired, grabbing his jacket.

"Because the guys swear up and down that they didn't do it." Patrick hopped up, grinning ear to ear.

"Wonderful. I love a good mind reading in the morning." Lisbon turned, pointing a stern finger at him.

"No trances, no hypnosis," she said firmly. He wilted a little.

"Well where's the fun in that?"

* * *

"I hate you, Dean," Sam grumbled, shifting his wrists in the metal cuffs.

"I know," Dean sighed. "How the hell was I supposed to know the cops would show up?"

"The sirens might've been a clue," Sam snapped.

"I'll get us outta this, okay? Just trust me, Samantha," Dean smirked.

"The last time I did that we got locked up, you got shot and half a dozen people died," he whispered harshly.

"It'll be fine," he assured. "We didn't do anything…this time."

"Oh yeah, because two fake FBI badges, having a full arsenal in the trunk and breaking an entering are nothing," Sam said sarcastically.

"Don't you watch crime shows, Sammy? They just wanna catch the guy who did it. They don't care about the other illegal crap you did," he said confidently.

"Yeah, that'd work. If this was T.V. and it didn't look like we killed this guy."

"Crap," Dean drooped.

Two black, official-looking SUVs pulled up.

"I swear to God if that's the FBI I will kill you here and now," Sam spat.

A woman that Dean assumed was the leader of this little gang got out first, showing her badge to the local sheriff before talking to him.

An Asian man exited the driver's side of the other car, looking completely and totally serious, as if his face would break if he smiled.

The woman that followed him from the back seat was nothing short of drop dead gorgeous. Dean grinned out of sheer reflex, taking a long look at the curvy red head. Sam rolled his eyes.

A tall man got out of the back seat of the first SUV, trying to look tough, but giving off a sort of awkward vibe.

The last man to get out of the car was average height, blonde and smiling. And for some reason he couldn't quite understand, Dean was almost instantly irritated at the mere sight of him. The man caught sight of the brothers and his smile widened.

The entire group, save the dark-haired woman speaking to the sheriff, went off toward where the body was to take a look around.

A few moments later the blonde man Sam and Dean had seen earlier came around the corner, sneaking past the dark haired woman and heading their way.

"Who the hell is this guy?" Dean asked, gesturing toward him.

"How should I know?" Sam asked, agitated.

"Hello," The man said, smiling pleasantly. "My name is Patrick Jane. I'm a consultant for those CBI agents behind me."

"So, you're not a cop?" Dean asked.

"No," Patrick answered. "I'm not a cop. And what might your names be?"

Sam and Dean glanced at each other, silently agreeing to stay silent.

"Well, you either tell me your names now or my colleague finds out the hard way," he looked over at Lisbon.

"I'm Sam," the younger Winchester said. Dean glared at him, angry at the betrayal.

"I'm Dean," he said gruffly, frowning. Patrick looked between the two of them.

"Let me guess," he said. "Brothers?"

"How did-"

"Well, the genetic similarities were easy to point out, but you both are leaning away from me and toward each other, which leads me to believe that you have a strong family relationship." Patrick stated. He looked at Dean. "You are trying to block Sam from me, which leads me to believe you're the older of the two, since you have an instinct to protect him."

Sam and Dean exchanged glances again, both awestruck.

"Jane," Lisbon sighed, walking toward them with the Asian man they had seen earlier. "I told you to wait until I was done talking to the sheriff."

"Lisbon, this is Sam and Dean. Brothers, and close ones at that. If you want a confession you're going to have a rough time doing so. Neither one will betray the other," Patrick said matter-of-factly. Lisbon glared up at him, exasperated, before turning her attention to the men in front of her.

"I'm Agent Lisbon with the CBI and this is agent Cho," she said. "We're going to have to take you both to our office."

"Unless you want to confess right now," Patrick said brightly. Dean scowled up at him.

"Thanks, but no thanks," he smirked.

"Alright then," Lisbon said, grabbing Dean's upper arm and guiding him to a standing position. "Come with me."

Sam stood on his own. Cho went to take his arm when he noticed the considerable height difference. He looked up at the man that was much taller than he was, expression unchanged. Sam looked down at him, both staring at each other for a beat.

Cho sighed and shook his head, following Lisbon to the car.

Patrick smiled pleasantly at them as they passed. He looked around the property one more time. Something caught his eye and he stared, eyes wide, face pale. He blinked and did a double take. But when he looked back, they were gone. He could've sworn he saw…

"Jane!" Lisbon called. He turned. "You comin' or what?"

Patrick replaced his horrified look with his usual smile and jogged toward the car.

He was just tired, that was all. Wasn't he?


	2. Red Flag

--To those who reviewed I apologize for not answering them as I usually do. I thank you all and if you have any questions please repeat them. Been hella busy lately and have had zero time to answer and i am deeply sorry for it. Thank you all so much and i will answer each and every review that follows.--

2

**Red Flag**

Sam and Dean were separated into two different interrogation rooms so they couldn't try and get their stories straight.

Patrick watched both, going between two-way mirrors to watch their behaviors and get a feel for them as people. He made quick and precise deductions about the both of them.

Dean was staring around the room, smirking, whistling, clicking his tongue, looking laid back and calm.

Sam was the polar opposite. He was staring at his hands, sighing repeatedly and shifting in his seat, rolling his eyes periodically, obviously angry at his brother.

"So what do you think?" Lisbon asked.

"I don't know if they killed poor Paul Bratter, but I do know who they are," Patrick said. "Take Dean for instance," he gestured to the older of the brothers. "He seems very calm and unfazed by all of this. Cocky, arrogant. But right now he's trying to think of a way to get him and his brother out of this mess. Mostly his brother. As long as Sam is safe he doesn't care."

"Now," he swiftly walked into the next room, Lisbon jogging to keep up behind him. "Sam is another story. You see, Sam is very angry with his older brother. Whatever trouble they are in –and they are in some sort of trouble- it's Dean's fault. Sam was either talked into the situation or went willingly without prior knowledge to any sort of consequences."

"I assume you want to talk to them?" Lisbon asked, sounding routine.

"Yes," Patrick smiled. "I think if I talk to them I'll be able to tell if we have the right men or not."

Patrick had examined the crime scene thoroughly, as usual. The official COD of Mr. Paul Bratter was cardiac arrest. The county coroner was still doing to autopsy to see if any sort of poison or other means of stopping a man's heart on a dime. Otherwise, it was a total natural cause. But, according to Mrs. Bratter, Mr. Bratter was in perfect health when he died.

Bratter did, however, have quite a few defensive wounds, but no trace of fibers, hair, skin cells, anything were found on him. Peculiar, yes, but would most likely be explained fully by the end of this investigation.

The living room and kitchen were in utter disarray. Couches were tipped over, pillows were slashed, the fridge contents were on the floor, the counters littered with broken dishes. An obvious sign of a struggle. But there was no sign of forced entry and no one saw anyone at the Bratter's house all day besides when Mrs. Bratter left that afternoon to go grocery shopping. Also peculiar.

The neighbors did, however, see the Winchester's car parked across the street all day and the night before. Which led to further suspicion that wasn't in the brother's favor.

"I think I'll talk to Sam first," Patrick stated. Lisbon nodded.

"I'll have Rigsby and Van Pelt keep Dean warm for you." Patrick shook his head, grinning. "What?"

"Nothing," he said mischievously and walked into the interrogation room.

* * *

Sam and Dean were, once again, caught up in a big misunderstanding with the local law enforcement.

Paul Bratter wasn't as squawky clean as everyone thought. You'd have to do some serious digging –or have some _really_ good fake IDs- to be able to find what they did. A few years ago, Paul and his brother were cliff-diving. By some sort of freak accident, Zack's head hit the bottom, killing him instantly. Or, at least that's what Paul told everyone. When you have as much money as he did and have enough friends in high places anything could look like an accident.

Sam and Dean had found out from coroner's records that Zack's official COD was drowning. So, when you put two and two together, you figured Zack probably died a violent death at his brother's greedy hands. Which is why Paul Bratter was being haunted.

A poltergeist, aka Zack, had invaded the household, throwing vases, breaking pictures and writing cryptic messages in the steam on the bathroom mirror. Zack was angry, very, very angry. Angry enough to build enough energy to take out the brother that got him.

Sam and Dean had been trying their best to save Paul's life, for the principle of the thing. They had tried to talk to Paul or his wife but, as usual, doors were slammed in their faces and they had to wait outside in the Impala for the inevitable. And when the inevitable came, they were still too late. The noise made a neighbor call the police, which is how they ended up in this situation.

Sam was grouchy, to say the least. It was Dean's idea to take the stupid hunt to begin with. One strange instance before Paul's without much evidence it was their type of case anyway and Dean wants to go for no reason.

"C'mon, Sammy, it's California!" Dean said, grinning. "After this mess we deserve some down time. _C'mon_ it'll take maybe a day to ice this mother and then we just sit back, relax and enjoy the live Baywatch."

"Fine," Sam agreed stiffly, but he knew better. The farther away Dean got from his feelings the better, and that's what he wanted to do. The farther away he was from Jo and Ellen's memory the easier it would be to bottle up his emotions. Sam understood how his brother worked. And if this process worked then fine. If there came a day when he wanted to talk, then fine. If they day came when he needed to let everything out, then fine. Sam would be there for him no matter what.

The door opened and Sam straightened up, trying not to look as nervous as he felt.

Patrick and Agent Cho filed in, both wearing completely different expressions. Patrick's eyes were bright with amusement and curiosity, a small smile on his face. Cho, on the other hand looked pretty indifferent to the entire matter, just as before. He leaned against the wall to Sam's right, eyeing Patrick the way a teacher watches a trouble-maker in class.

"Hello, Sam," Patrick said, sitting down and smiling pleasantly. Sam said nothing, just looked at him suspiciously. "So, your brother got you into another pickle again, huh?"

"How'd ya guess?" Sam mumbled, irritated by the thought.

"Well, considering every time you look at the wall you scowl and that just so happens to be the direction your brother's in…"

"What do you want?" Sam asked, skirting around the subject.

"Just to talk to you about Mr. Bratter's death," Patrick said calmly. "Did you kill him?"

"No!" Sam said. Patrick went on smiling, his eyes watching every line on the younger man's face carefully.

"No... no I don't think you did. Your brother is left to be decided, however. But you do know who killed him, don't you?"

"No!" Sam answered just a little too quickly.

"Ahh…" Patrick said, pointing at him. "You're lying. When you lie you purse your lips and blink several times… Yes, you know who killed him…" He eyed the youngest Winchester suspiciously. "Yes…but you're not going to tell me." It wasn't a question. He stood.

"Well, Sam, I'll be back later, I'm sure. I'm off." Agent Cho, who had remained dormant the entire time, left the room, glancing at Sam and Patrick before leaving. Patrick moved to leave but turned on his heel. "Oh, yes, just one more thing, Sam. What's your last name?" He asked quickly.

"Wesson," Sam answered just as fast. Patrick nodded and smiled.

"Thank you," he said and shut the door behind him.

Sam sighed, relieved, when he was gone. He then groaned aloud and rolled his eyes when a sudden realization hit him. Dean wasn't going to like Patrick…at all.

--Uh oh! More soon! :D--


	3. Bloody Hell

3

**Bloody Hell**

Rigsby _really_ didn't like Dean. But he couldn't say anything. He couldn't tell him that if he made one more comment about Grace that he was going to beat his face in like he wanted. All he could do was stand in the corner and brood, imaging himself permanently wiping that stupid smirk off of his face.

Van Pelt smiled and flirted back, but sometimes she just couldn't help but smile of her own free-will. She had to admit, his charm had been tweaked to perfection.

"You're kidding," he was saying. "How the hell does a girl like you stay single?" Rigsby flexed his closed fist in the corner.

"'A girl like me'? And what kind of girl am I?" She was playing along strictly for Lisbon's benefit, since she had asked her to "keep him occupied".

"But…Lisbon…" She had almost whined.

"I know, I know," she said, holding up her hands. "But you're the only one he'll talk to. He likes you."

"Yay for me."

So now here she sat, falsely flirting with him while her boyfriend stood behind her.

Dean smiled that cocky grin of his , laying on that Winchester charm he'd worked so hard to perfect.

"You know, the drop dead gorgeous kind," he grinned. Rigsby rolled his eyes, irritated. Van pelt smiled, trying to be as realistic as she could muster.

When the door opened she immediately backed away from the table, her smile gone.

"Hello, hello," Patrick smiled. Dean frowned. He didn't want to talk to this guy. He was annoying the first time around, let alone another one.

Patrick noticed the hostile look but chose to ignore it. He smiled his dimpled grin, knowing this was going to be fun…for him, of course.

"So, Dean," he began, folding his hands on the table, "Your brother just told me an interesting story."

"Did he now?" Dean smirked, leaning back and crossing his arms across his chest.

"Oh yeah," Patrick said. "You see, he said _he_ killed Paul Bratter."

"That's a lie," Dean growled. "Sam wouldn't say that."

"Well he did," Patrick said. "He admitted to the murder and said you had nothing to do with it. He said you were there to stop him."

"That's not what happened!" Dean barked.

"Then you killed him."

"No!"

"Then what happened?" He asked smoothly.

"I…I can't tell you," Dean mumbled.

"Why not?" Patrick inquired, cocking his brow. Dean shook his head, smiling and chuckling ruefully.

"Because. If I did you'd send me off to the nuthouse for the rest of my life," he said pointedly.

"That won't happen," Patrick assured.

"You won't believe me," Dean retaliated.

"Try me," he smiled.

"No." Patrick leaned forward without missing a beat.

"I swear on my wife and daughter's graves that I will believe whatever you tell me and not ship you off anywhere."

Dean was, nonetheless, taken aback by the blunt statement, but it still didn't sway him. He wasn't going to take this guy's word for it. He'd been taught a lot by his father, and one big point he'd made was never trust cops unless you _know_ you didn't do anything wrong. And that wasn't the case here.

"No." Patrick sighed and stood, understanding that he wouldn't be getting any information out of the elder brother today.

"Alright, alright," he held up his hands in temporary surrender, "You win. But I will find out what happened to Paul Bratter. And when I do, remember, you could've told me now." He looked at Dean, waiting for some sort of reaction or change in his behavior. Dean merely flexed his jaw and strengthened his stance. "No? Okay," he started to walk away again. "Last chance," no reaction, "Still no? Okay?"

Van Pelt and Rigsby –who glared at Dean violently- left the room and Patrick turned once again.

"Oh, by the way, just one last bit. What's your last name?"

"Wesson," Dean answered immediately. Patrick grinned.

"Oh, you're good." And he left the room, leaving Dean very confused.

* * *

"So?" Lisbon said as Patrick approached. "Did they do it?"

"No," Patrick said, walking to the counter and beginning to make tea. "They aren't killers. However, they are they do know something. I believe they know how Paul Bratter died, but neither one of them will say. And I know they both participate in less than legal activities quite often. Most likely on a daily basis. I have a feeling it's for an honorable cause, though."

"And what cause would that be?" Lisbon asked.

"Not sure," he said honestly, sitting down in front of her. "But that's not important. We need to keep them here to find out what they know. If we let them leave they'll disappear."

"We have nothing to hold them for!" She exclaimed. Patrick grinned.

"You'll have everything you need if you just look in the trunk of their car."

* * *

Lisbon shook her head, staring at the arsenal before her in the old car.

"Told ya so," Patrick smiled.

"Fine," she resolved, "Fine. So we keep them here."

"We can question them tomorrow. It'll do them some good to sleep on it. Oh, and put them in the same room."

"What?" Lisbon snapped. "Jane, that's totally against regulations!"

"But then they'll be able to figure out what they want to do. Talk or don't. Otherwise they'll both stay as stubborn as ever," he said pointedly. Lisbon sighed, pressing her fingers to the bridge of her nose.

"Alright, alright. Whatever you say. If they get out though…"

"They won't," he smiled. "So long as someone fast and strong is on hand all night."

"Fine, Rigsby and Cho will stay here," she said.

"I also wanted to-"

"No."

"But I-"

"No."

"Couldn't I just-"

"No."

"Then what am I supposed to do?" Patrick whined, wilted.

"Go home and get some sleep," Lisbon said, heading back inside. "You look exhausted."

"Alright," Patrick surrendered. "Alright, see you tomorrow then."

* * *

Lisbon didn't see it. She didn't notice that split second hesitation before he answered. She didn't hear the voice in his head scream in agony and despair.

No one knew about the urge he had to fight to stop himself from dropping to his knees and begging her to let him stay, to not make him go home.

No one saw past his smile and pleasant demeanor to the torment in his eyes.

They had failed to notice him shut his eyes and sigh sadly when the elevator door closed.

He went home, having nowhere else to go. He was certainly exhausted, which gave him hopes that he would fall asleep easily.

He lied down after changing out of his work clothes, waiting. Then the silence came. The horrible, gut wrenching silence.

He shut his eyes, but they sprang back open again. He sighed and rolled over. And rolled over. And again, tossing and turning for over an hour. Images and hate plagued his mind along with crippling sadness and fear. Memories threatened to suffocate him. So it was going to be one of _those_ nights.

"Patrick," God, those voices were getting so clear. "Patrick, darling." No, no she couldn't be this close. He couldn't deal with this right now. He was breaking again, wasn't he? His mind was about to snap yet again.

He dared to open his eyes and look up to where the voice was coming from. And there she was. His dead wife. She was right there. Right in front of him. He could reach out and touch her. She was smiling at him from her perch on the edge of his bed, like she'd never left him.

His eyes grew, his face paled, his hands shook and his heart pounded. He sat up, lost for words.

"What…how did…what's-"

"Shh…" she pressed a finger to his lips. Pain radiated from that spot right to his heart, making it ache. He was awake. He was sure of it. Wasn't he? How was she here? How was this possible? "Hush, darling. It's alright."

"You're not real," he said shakily. "You can't be real." She smiled knowingly at him.

"I am very real, baby." She stroked his cheek. "I missed you."

His heart contracted so painfully he was sure it was bleeding from just looking at her. He unconsciously leaned into her hand. Tears welled in his eyes. It hurt. It hurt so much… But she was right here…

"Oh don't cry," she said, kissing his forehead. "It's alright, Patrick. Shh…" He shook his head, keeping his tears at bay as much as he could, locking his sobs in his chest.

"You don't understand," he choked. "You don't know how much I missed you. You don't know…you don't know how sorry I am." A solitary tear trekked its way down his cheek. She kissed it away, breaking his heart even more.

"Come here, darling." She wrapped her arms around him, holding him close to her.

He clung to her as if his life depended on it. His sobs broke free, too painful to be contained any longer.

"Shh, hush, baby. Don't cry, it's alright." She held onto him as he cried and apologized over and over again for what he'd done.

"It's not your fault, Patrick. It's alright."

He'd never felt such agony before. It was almost worse than when he dounf her dead.

"I'm dreaming," he cried. "I have to be. Y-you're not real. You c-can't be real."

"I'm here, Patrick. I'm real, and I'm right here. It's okay. It's okay. Shh…shh…"

He refused to let her go. He refused to sleep. But sometime around dawn he dozed. And when he jolted awake less than an hour later he was left holding his pillow.

--o.O uh oh--


	4. Red Alert

4

**Red Alert**

Patrick was exhausted and shaken. He kept this to himself, however. No one needed to know. No one needed to have _any_ knowledge the thoughts, emotions and memories plaguing him right now.

All they needed to see was the cup of tea in his hand on the forced smile on his face.

"Good morning, all," he grinned, looking around at his coworkers.

Cho gave his usual nod, Rigsby his usual half-wave, Van Pelt her usual nothing and Lisbon a tired smile.

"So, how are our detainees this morning?" He asked, plopping down on his couch and reminding himself that he had to stay awake.

"The one's fine. The other one hasn't shut up all night and he keeps whining about food," Cho said stoically, not looking up from the paperwork he was filling out.

Patrick nodded, shutting his eyes and leaning his head back.

"So, we'll interview them again," Lisbon began. "But if they don't give us anything I'm letting them go. If they didn't kill Paul Bratter, then I have no reason to keep them."

"What about what we found in the trunk?" Rigsby asked.

"It'll end up as a second amendment thing not worth the effort or the man power or the taxpayer's money. So it's not worth it." She turned to Patrick, waiting for him to say something. He remained stationary, eyes still closed. "Jane?"

"Mm?" He looked over at her. "Oh, right, let them go if they don't talk. Pointless to prosecute them for the armory in their car, got it." He stood, finishing his tea. "Well, then, no time like the present." He smiled and walked toward the interrogation rooms, swiping the box of doughnuts off of Rigsby's desk in such a swift and fluid motion that the agent didn't notice for five minutes.

* * *

Dean jerked awake from his doze when the door opened. He frowned grumpily when the annoying guy with the questions came in.

"Hello," he smiled. Dean didn't pay attention to him. He was far more interested in the box in his hands. His stomach growled painfully.

Patrick's grin broadened, his mischievous eyes going from Dean's gaze to the box and back again. A light clicked in his eyes as he got an idea. "I'll make you a deal, Dean," he sat down, setting the box in the middle of the table. "You answer a question, honestly of course, and you get a doughnut. You don't, and I get a doughnut. Sound fair?"

He was so hungry it didn't matter what he agreed to.

"And don't lie, now. I'll be able to tell if you are."

"Fine, go ahead," Dean said, still not looking at him.

"Okay, did you or your brother kill Paul Bratter?"

"No." Patrick turned the open box toward him. Dean grabbed the closest pastry to him and bit into it. Patrick turned it away again. "Do you know who did?"

"Yes." Another doughnut.

"Can you tell me who it was?"

"No." Another.

"Why not?"

"You won't believe me." Another.

"Yes, I will."

"That wasn't a question," he smirked.

"What is the worst thing that could happen if you tell me?"

"Prison, asylums, the list goes on." Another.

"What if I were to tell you that you and I would be the only ones in this conversation?"

"I'd say maybe."

"Alright. How about if I said there's be no consequences for what you told me _and_ I'd let you and your brother out of here scot-free?"

Dean pursed his lips, looking at him suspiciously, thinking.

"Think about it, Dean," Patrick said. "That's the best offer you're going to get from anyone here or out of here. What's it gonna be?" Dean sat there still, eyes hard. Patrick smiled, picking up the lid of the box. "Going once…" He started to close it. "Going twice…" Almost shut.

"Okay," Dean said, swallowing and cursing silently. But if it would get him and Sam out of here, what did he have to lose? "Okay, turn off the mike."

* * *

"What'd hey say?" Lisbon asked.

"He told me who killed Paul Bratter. Well, more of a what."

"And..?" Lisbon prompted impatiently.

"And he believes it to be a fact with every fiber in his being. So, naturally he's either a complete lunatic or he's actually telling the whole truth and nothing but the truth so help him whoever," he said, walking into the small bullpen and plopping down heavily on his couch.

"Jane!" Lisbon spat irritably. "Who, er, what did he say killed Paul Bratter?" Patrick sighed, sounding bored and shut his eyes.

"In a word, ghosts."

-- O.O I know it's short. The next one'll be longer, I promise! --


	5. Red Letter

5

**Red Letter**

"I can't believe you!" Sam barked, stepping out of the Impala. "Why the hell did you do that?"

"Hey, it's the best deal I've ever gotten from a cop _ever_," Dean said. "The deal was way too good to pass up. I tell him what happened and he lets us both off? I mean, come on, would you've turned that down?"

"He wasn't a cop, Dean," he said pointedly. Dean rolled his eyes.

"Oh, whatever, Samantha. My point is, we're off the hook and they didn't even take our fingerprints," he smirked.

"They detained us, we weren't under arrest," Sam said, lips pursed.

"Why the hell are you so grumpy?" Dean asked.

"I don't know," Sam said. "Something doesn't feel right. I don't mean about them letting us go, I mean this hunt. Something's up."

"Uh, yeah, a ghost killed a guy," Dean snorted. Sam shook his head.

"See, that's just it. Something doesn't feel right about that. I think there's more goin' on," Sam said.

"How do you know that?"

"It's just a feeling." Dean nodded and sighed.

"Alright, we'll look into your 'feeling'," he grumped. "But I'm getting some sleep first."

"You didn't sleep last night?"

"Hell no," Dean shook his head. "I can't sleep around cops, are you kidding me?" He walked inside the motel room yawning. Sam shook his head.

"Gets more and more like Dad every day."

* * *

"Ghosts?" Lisbon repeated, incredulous. "You're kidding, right?"

"No," Patrick shook his head. "That's exactly what he said. He said the ghost of Paul Bratter's brother killed him."

"That's insane!" She threw her arms in the air. "And what the hell are we supposed to do now? We now have no suspects and a dead body to deal with! What the hell am I supposed to tell Minelli?"

"Nothing," Cho said, walking up to them. "Another dead body down town. Coroner said he died last night while those guys were locked up."

"Thank God," Lisbon sighed. Patrick had a finger pressed to his lips, thinking.

"Ghosts," he whispered. "What would make him think ghosts? An illusion, trick of the light, maybe? No, no he seemed far too experienced with this sort of thing to fall for that. But how could one be so sane and believe in something so illogical? Then again, there is a lot of religion in the world… Hm…"

"Jane?" Lisbon asked. Patrick jumped, giving her his attention. "Are you coming?"

"Yes," he nodded, smiling and ignoring the swaying of the room as he walked with them.

_I'm fine,_ he told himself. _I'm alright. Everything's alright…_ But Patrick Jane is a very good liar.

* * *

"CAS, PERSONAL SPACE!" Dean bellowed, jumping back and stumbling out of the bathroom.

"My apologies," the angel mumbled.

"How many times do we have to have this conversation?" Dean barked.

"It's not my intention to appear directly in front of you," he said stoically.

"Cas, did you need something?" Sam asked while Dean continued to grumble and brush his teeth.

Castiel looked around the dirty motel room awkwardly, out of place and unsure what to do. "No," he admitted, looking at the brother's with a sort of lost expression. "I…I don't have anything to do. At all. And I…I don't know what else to do. So, so I came here." Sam and Dean exchanged glances, both stifling laughter.

"You can crash here, Cas," Dean said, stepping out of the bathroom, of his own accord, this time. The angel frowned, cocking his head to the side.

"I don't understand," he said bluntly. Dean sighed and rolled his eyes.

"You can stay here, Cas," he said. The angel nodded and sat down at the rickety table, hands folded in his lap, totally alienated in such a human abode.

Sam plucked the paper off of the table, giving the local drabble a onceover. But as soon as his eyes roved over the front page they grew.

"Dean!" He turned, shoving the paper in his brother's direction.

Dean looked at the paper, then up at his brother in shock.

The headline blared: MYSTERIOUS DEATH IN SACREMENTO! HUSBAND SAYS "HER MOTHER'S GHOST DID IT!

* * *

Patrick lied down in his too quiet apartment, trying not to think about the pressing silence around him.

The crime scene hadn't been what he'd expected. The woman's body was totally in tact, no wounds of any kind. She just dropped dead. Just as Paul Bratter had. The same sort of struggle was to be seen, but this time there was no one standing around waiting to take the fall for it.

And what puzzled him the most was the husband's accusation of the culprit. He said it was his wife's mother who did it. The only problem was, Mrs. Routh's mother had been dead for two years.

"More of this ghost business," he had said, shaking his head.

"It's gotta be a hoax," Lisbon said, as exasperated as he was.

"Very cunning for a killer to do, though. Bring back dead relatives to scare their victims. Very clever indeed." Van Pelt strode up, joining their little group.

"The only strange instances that Mr. Routh can think of is the lights and electronics kept acting strange. They'd flicker, turn on and off. Nothing major. Probably power surges," she stated.

"Maybe…" Patrick said quietly, stifling a yawn.

"It made the evening addition," Cho spat, handing Lisbon the newspaper. She sighed, shutting her eyes for a moment.

"I can't wait until this case is over."

They'd gotten back to the station where they were bombarded with questions from Rigsby, who'd been ordered to stay put.

Patrick had nearly fallen asleep on his couch. In fact he was on the verge of dozing when Lisbon yelled at him to go home.

Once again, he stopped himself from begging on his knees for her to let him stay.

_Don't make me go,_ he had pleaded behind his smile. _Don't make me go to that horrible place. Don't let me dream of her again._

But no such luck. And now, he lied here, shutting his eyes in a feeble attempt to sleep before she came. Before she came to torment him with her kind words and gentle caresses.

That's when he heard the most chilling sound he'd ever heard in his life. It was so soft, so close.

"Daddy?"

- O.O-


	6. Bloody Brilliant

6

**Bloody Brilliant**

His eyes flew open, hardly daring to believe what he had just heard. No, no not her too!

But there she was, just like he remembered her. No blood, no lank, pale face, just a smiling little girl. His heart tore in half just looking at her. His breath turned shaky, his face went white, his eyes widened with horror and filled with tears.

"Hi, Daddy," she smiled, her teddy bear dangling from her tiny fingers. He sat up, just looking at her, tears slipping down his cheeks.

"Daddy, what's wrong?" She asked. God, that little voice, those wide, innocent eyes. His daughter. His baby.

"I, I'm just so happy to see you, princess," he gulped. He was afraid to touch her. If he did she'd disappear, or break. The strange thing was, he was almost certain he was awake this time. He couldn't stop himself from crying and it only got worse when she wrapped her arms around his stomach, hugging him.

"It's alright, Daddy," she said, hugging him. "It's okay." Slowly, very slowly, he hugged her, thinking any moment he'd be holding air. He cried harder when she didn't. What was left of his jagged heart throbbed. Good god she was right here again. He touched her hair, the soft, wisps of curls falling through his fingers.

She looked just as he remembered, she felt just as he remembered.

"I missed you, Daddy," she said, smiling up at him. He smiled back at her. He couldn't believe this, not in his wildest dreams. But, then again, he was dreaming. It had never been this vivid, and he'd never remembered every detail so clearly before. And he'd never been more drained by them. They left him feeling as if he hadn't slept all night…

"I missed you too, sweetheart," he whispered, taking her in his arms and hugging her close. His baby girl, the best thing that had ever happened to him that had been ripped away in an instant. She was right here. He could feel her. He sobbed softly, hugging her so tight he was afraid he was hurting her.

"Don't cry, Daddy," she said gently. "It's alright."

"I'm so sorry, baby. I'm sorry I let that man hurt you," he choked, swallowing hard.

"It's not your fault, Daddy. You didn't know the bad man was gonna hurt us," she assured. God, she was comforting _him_.

He wouldn't let her go. He wouldn't. No matter what. He refused. The hours dragged on, hours of him crying, helpless to stop the act and listening to her play and giggle and chatter away about nothing, as children do, a blessing he had been robbed of.

The sun started to come up and she kissed his cheek. "I gots to go, Daddy," she said.

"No," Patrick begged, hugging her again. "You don't have to go, sweetheart. You can stay here, can't you?"

"I will, Daddy. I'll be back soon, I promise," she grinned. "I missed you so much, Daddy."

"I missed you more, baby." Before he could hug her any tighter she was gone. His arms were left holding thin air. He looked around for a moment, wondering if maybe, just maybe, she was playing a game. But she was gone. Just gone.

He sobbed into his hands, alone. So alone. He cried for hours until he had to go to work. He wiped his eyes, took a shower, got dressed and buried his emotions. Tea would keep him awake throughout the day and the case would keep his mind away from his daughter. He swallowed the wave of tears that threatened to overcome him as that tiny laugh rang in his ears and replaced it with a smile. That smile fooled everyone, and he wanted to keep it that way.

* * *

Sam sat back down at the table, a beer in one hand, a Coke in the other. He slid the Coke over to Castiel, who was staring around the bar, looking uneasy.

"Relax, Cas," Sam said. "You're not condemning yourself just by being here." Castiel frowned at him, taking a sip of the soft drink.

"What is it with you two and insisting on dragging me to places of iniquities?" He asked impatiently. "Being in them is one thing, but partaking in their activities is another." He gestured to the elder Winchester across the room, who was sitting with a group of men playing poker.

Sam smiled meekly. "You get used to it after awhile," he offered, half shrugging. Castiel shook his head, taking another drink.

"I don't want to get used to it," he said plainly.

Dean strode over to them, smiling broadly. To Sam, this meant one of two things. One: He got the bartender's number and wouldn't be coming back to the room tonight, or two: he'd won big. Judging by the large wad of cash in his hand he decided it was the second one.

"Pack your bag, Sammy, we're stayin' someplace nice for a change," he grinned. Sam's brows rose.

"How much did you win?" He asked, impressed. Dean's grin, if at all possible, broadened.

"More than we're worth, little brother. Now let's go." Sam stood, following him. Dean looked over his shoulder at Castiel, who remained seated, looking unsure as to what he should do. Dean sighed, rolling his eyes. "You too, Cas."

The angel stood and followed them out the door.

The Hyatt was definitely not the place Winchester kind was used to going to. No, this place was for people with money and credit cards that had their real names on them. It was for the people walking around in Armani suits and Liz Claiborne dresses.

It wasn't a place for ex-convicts to be standing with tattered luggage, worn jeans, no class and an awkward guy in a trench coat to be. Which is probably why the receptionist was looking at them the way she was.

"Um, can I help you?" She asked, brow creased. Dean smiled at her.

"Yes, uh," he glanced at her nametag. "Jennifer. I was wondering if you had any rooms open." He smiled that charming smile of his, feeling accomplished when she blushed a little and set to her computer.

"Yes, we have two Guestrooms, three Doubles and one Suite open," she said, smiling pleasantly.

"I'll take the Suite," he smiled. Sam blanched. Dean must've won the lottery. Castiel frowned, not understanding his expression.

"Alrighty then," Jennifer said, looking just s surprised as Sam did. "And how long will you be staying?"

"Four nights," he said. Sam's eyes couldn't get any bigger. Castiel looked around the large, marbled hall, oblivious to most of this.

"…Okay then, Mr. Perry, enjoy your stay." Dean took the card-key to the room from her.

"Thanks, sweetheart," he smirked, dropping her a wink. She blushed again.

"Dean, you're crazy," Sam said, jogging up next to him as he walked toward the elevator, ignoring the uppity onlookers.

"Everyone deserves to live a little once and awhile, Sammy," Dean grinned, pressing the button to their floor.

Before the doors closed Dean reached out and grabbed Castiel's collar, yanking him back.

"We need to get a leash for him."

The room was just about the most lavish thing the two brothers had been in. Castiel looked around with interest, especially at the mini-fridge.

Sam and Dean were more interested in the beds. There were three separate rooms, each with its own, large bed. The blankets were clean, the sheets were soft and the pillows weren't flat. They were both asleep in less than five minutes.

Castiel watched T.V. all night, feeling no need to sleep. He tried laying down and found the act useless and pointless. Humans, he'd never understand them.

He was watching a man with a beard yell about laundry detergent when there was a loud scream next door. He jumped at the sudden noise, staring at the door. Dean and Sam both stirred, but neither woke up.

Castiel waited a moment for another noise, but none came. A few minutes later he heard sirens and thought nothing of it. It wasn't until someone started pounding on the door and yelling "OPEN UP, POLICE!" that he thought he should wake Dean up.

-Whoo, crazy chapter.-


	7. Crimson Tide

7

**Crimson Tide**

"Dean," a low voice said, stirring him from the first peaceful sleep he'd had in months, "Dean, wake up."

He opened his eyes and met Castiel's big blue ones centimeters from his face.

"Ah!" He jumped back and sat up. "Damn it, Cas!" He took a few deep breaths, agitated. "We're getting you human lessons. First one's on the word awkward. Now what the hell do you want?"

"The police are outside demanding you open the door." Dean's eyes grew.

"Cas, get out-"

The door burst open.

Sam woke up so fast he fell out of his bed. Dean, Castiel and the younger Winchester stepped out into the living room, trying to grasp what was going on.

"POLICE, DON'T MOVE!" They froze. "Now put your hands in the air!" Sam was still trying to catch up to all of this. He shook his head, trying to shake the sleep out of it. They obliged to what the three armed officers demanded.

Castiel stared at the firearms with intrigue, curious as to why they wanted him to hold up his hands.

"Something wrong, officers?" Dean asked, smirking. Sam shut his eyes and sighed. Sam stifled a yawn. Before the angry looking men could answer, five familiar faces stepped through the door. Sam and Dean groaned.

"Hey," Patrick grinned. "Lisbon, look."

"Great," Rigsby grumbled, glaring at Dean.

"Stand down," Lisbon ordered. The officers lowered their weapons. "We've got it from here. Thank you." The officers nodded and left. She turned back to the men in front of her. "So, here we are again."

"Funny how coincidences happen, huh?" Dean said, eyeing Patrick, who was rifling through things around the room. Lisbon pursed her lips.

"I don't call that coincidence, I call it being murderers. The both of you," she said firmly.

"Oh," Patrick said, smiling again, "don't forget their friend." He waved at Castiel, who frowned a little but waved back. Sam and Dean rolled their eyes. Patrick giggled.

"And who are you?" Lisbon asked.

"Castiel," the angel said.

"Well, Castiel, because of your friends, you're going downtown too," she said.

"Wait, why are we being arrested?" Sam demanded.

"Unless you can explain the trail of blood leading to your room and the dead body next door then I suggest you be quiet and come with us," Cho said plainly, cuffing him.

"Whoa, whoa, wait a second," Dean said, moving away from Lisbon and the handcuffs in her hand as she came up behind him. "Now I know how much you're enjoying this, but I don't think the rest of these guys wanna see me in my shorts all day. You mind if I get some pants?"

"Go ahead," she blushed.

"Boss," Rigsby whispered, looking mortified.

"What?" Lisbon asked, shrugging her shoulders a little. He and Cho shook their heads.

Castiel frowned when Van Pelt tightened the metal rings around his wrists, wondering why she felt the need to restrain him.

"Alright, now arrest me," Dean said, jeans in place. Sam frowned, wishing he had the same opportunity. "Hey, easy on the merchandise, sweetheart," he winked. She blushed again, then shook her head in embarrassment.

They were lead downstairs by the agents. Dean glanced back over his shoulder.

"Hey, uh, Jen?" The receptionist looked up, her eyes widening. "We're, uh, checkin' out early."

* * *

Patrick rubbed his eyes, taking another drink of tea. He had to stay awake, despite how exhausted he was. He felt as if he hadn't slept in a week. Or, well, since he'd started having those dreams.

They were dreams, weren't they..?

Another body had been found. That made three, and they all had the same unusual M.O.; dead loved ones murdering them. Each CBI agent understood that this was totally impossible, yet it was happening.

Patrick was working on an explanation, but he didn't have much to go on. In fact, he was just as clueless as the rest of the team. For now.

He wasn't surprised n the least that Sam and Dean had showed up again. And now, while Van Pelt and Cho looked over the hotel rooms, he had someone new to talk to. He understood San and Dean's behavior perfectly, but Castiel was a new challenge, and Patrick liked a challenge.

Sam waited in an interrogation room while Dean waited in a chair outside, whistling and making Lisbon blush and frustrated at herself with his remarks about her looks.

Castiel sat calmly in the room, face screwed up in discomfort as he shifted his sore wrists. His face was expressionless when Patrick opened the door.

"Hello there," Patrick smiled, sitting down in front of him. "My name is Patrick Jane."

"Hello."

"So, Castiel, how did you get mixed up in all of this?" He asked.

"What do you mean?" The oblivious angle inquired.

"I mean how did you end up in that room with Sam and Dean?"

"I had nothing else to do so I followed them," he said plainly. "Though I didn't enjoy the bar very much."

"Not a drinking man?" Patrick said.

"No. I don't like being in places like that."

"Places like what?"

"Dens of iniquity," he said with distaste.

"So you're a man of faith?" Patrick asked, looking amused.

"Yes, very much so," he said truthfully. "And you are not." It wasn't a question.

"What makes you say that?" Patrick said, frowning just a little.

"The look of amusement and skepticism isn't hard to figure out. You haven't believed in God in seven years," he said. Patrick's smile was gone.

_How does he know that?_

"Let's get back to the matter at hand," he said, deterring the conversation from himself. "What happened at the bar?"

"Dean won a lot of money in a poker game. He insisted that he, Sam and I stay at a nicer place than the soiled motels they usually stay in. Dean checked us in, they went upstairs and went to bed. At about nine this morning the police pounded on the door."

"What did you do all night?" Patrick asked.

"Watched infomercials and listened to one man yell about a type of cloth that apparently absorbs anything and another yell about a type of cleaning product whose name is similar to the sound a bomb makes," Castiel said stoically. Patrick started to laugh, astounded by the man's speaking pattern. Everything about him, from the way he was sitting to his speech pattern made him seem, well, inhuman.

"So, while you were awake last night did you hear anything strange, or see anything?" He chortled.

"I heard a woman scream this morning. Then sirens, then the police were at the door. That was the only strange instance I can think of," he said.

"Yes that was Mrs. Moreno. She was scheduled to clean the room this morning. She found Miss Morningside dead and the blood leading to your room. You have no idea how that blood got there?" He asked.

"No."

"Do you know who killed Miss Morningside?"

"No."

"Well, alright then," Patrick stood, smiling. "I'll be back in a little while to talk some more. Is that alright?" He nodded.

"Yes," Castiel said, watching him curiously. "Patrick." He turned. "I'm sorry for your loss. What happened to your family is tragic."

Patrick stared at him, just stared for a moment. "How…how do you know that?" He breathed, his eyes staying on him.

"You wouldn't believe me," he said. Patrick shook his head and walked out. He couldn't be around this, not right now. Anytime but now. He walked out of the room and turned down the hall to talk to Sam. He stopped dead. His wife and daughter were standing at the end of the hall.

"No," he breathed. "No, not here…"

"Jane?" Lisbon said, coming up behind him. "What are you looking at?" He jumped away when she touched his shoulder, coming out of her daze.

"Nothing, nothing, lost in thought. Sorry." He took one last look at the smiling people a few feet away and stepped into the room to talk to Sam.


	8. White and Red All Over

8

**White and Red All Over**

"Alright Sam," Patrick said, sitting down in front of him. "Are you gonna tell me what's goin' on because the guy next door, I'll tell you." He shook his head.

"Yeah," Sam chuckled. "He does that sometimes."

"So," Patrick sighed. "What happened, Sam?"

"Nothing," Sam said truthfully. "We got to the hotel last night, checked in, and I was asleep within ten minutes. The next thing I knew, the police were kicking the door in."

"Well, Sam, here's how my colleagues see it. You and your brother have been either near, or at the scene of two of the three people who have been murdered. That doesn't register as a coincidence, Sam, so unless you can come up with another solution I'm afraid both you and your brother will be pinned for these," he explained. Sam knew what he was doing, he was trying to get a confession or confirm a denial.

"Look… Dean… Dean told you about the ghosts and stuff, right?" He asked, hardly able to believe he was saying this to a cop.

"Yes," Patrick said, straightening up a little.

"Dean and I…we, we take care of that sort of thing. We…we kill ghosts."

"So," that amused smile spread its way across his face. "You two are like, the Ghostbusters?"

"I know how stupid it sounds," Sam assured. "Trust me, I know. And I know that you probably think we need to be committed or something. But… we can prove it to you."

"How so?"

"We can get the murders to stop. You just have to let us out of here so we can do our job," he said. "I know that it's against every regulation you guys have to do that, especially if you run our names, but trust me. We can make this stop."

Patrick stared at him for a moment, contemplating. After a long pause, he said: "What will I find if we run your names through the system?"

"That Dean and I died in an explosion two years ago after being arrested for first degree murder and accessory to murder," he mumbled, looking guilty.

"And I take it that you and Dean were innocent of those charges?" Patrick asked.

"Yes."

"Of course." Patrick looked at him for another beat. "How do I know you won't bolt as soon as we let you out of here?"

"If we're not guilty of anything, why would we run?" Sam challenged. Another lapse of silence.

"Alright, I want to know everything you know about this case," he said. "And I want to know what steps you'll take to make sure it stops."

"It's either a shapeshifter that gets off on people seeing loved ones or a cursed object being passed around from person to person," he explained. "Shapeshifters always have some sort of vice, like money, or love, and judging by the EMF levels it could be one of them. And if it's a cursed object we have to get and destroy that object. Then again, it could be a supernatural virus."

"So, what's this EMF thingy?" He asked.

"Electromagnetic Frequencies," Sam said.

"Alright. Now, I take it Shapeshifters can turn into anyone or anything they want, right?" He asked, basing his knowledge on things he had heard in movies.

"Within reason, yes."

"And this cursed object could be anything?"

"Anything that was significant enough to a person to be cursed," he amended.

"Right. And if it happens to be a supernatural virus, how does all of that work, exactly?"

"A supernatural virus effects everyone of a certain type. In this case, it's people who've lost relatives or close friends and have some sort of guilt about it." Patrick winced internally. That sounded familiar, almost eerily familiar.

No, no that couldn't be the explanation for what he was seeing. He didn't have a connection to the other victims. He hadn't been to the same places or anything of that nature to connect them in any way. But then again, this wasn't a usual subject to have a logical explanation…

"How do I know that you and your brother just stopped killing after this?" He asked. Sam chewed his lip.

"What if I could prove that all of this was real, would you believe me then?" He asked, still unable to believe that he was doing this.

"If you can prove it then go ahead," Patrick said, leaning back, looking expectant.

"I…I need to see Castiel," he said. Patrick frowned.

"Sam I know that you aren't lying to me, and I know you that you believe wholeheartedly that all of this is true, but I don't know if I can go along with the rest of this," he said firmly.

"I know you don't believe me. I know that all of this makes no sense to you, but I can prove all of it, I just need to see Castiel to do it," Sam explained.

Patrick stared at him for a beat. "Alright, Sam," he said, standing. "But remember that if you try anything there are several people with guns around here." Sam nodded.

"I won't. I don't have a death wish."

They stepped out of the room, walking past Dean to get to where Castiel was.

"Sam, what-?"

"I'm gonna get us out of here," Sam said quietly, shutting the door before he could say anything else.

Castiel looked up at the two of them when they came in, his face unreadable.

"Is there something wrong?" He asked.

"Cas, I need you to do me a favor," Sam said, walking toward him. Patrick watched curiously. "I need you to take us somewhere, anywhere with a ghost or something that isn't that dangerous."

"Sam, it's hard for me to get myself from place to place, let alone two other people," he glanced over Sam's shoulder at Patrick. "But I'll do it."

"Thank you," Sam said, backing up.

Castiel stepped toward them. Patrick looked at Sam uneasily.

"Hold still," was all the warning Castiel gave before placing his fingers on Patrick and Sam's foreheads.

Patrick blinked, and when he opened his eyes again he was in the middle of a jungle.

-Gasp!-


	9. Jungle Fever

9

**Jungle Fever**

"What in the world..?" He looked around frantically, turning in circles. Sam was looking around as well, but for whatever creature might show up.

Castiel was leaning against a tree, breathing heavily in the thick air, looking worn.

"Cas, what are we lookin' for?" Sam asked. The angel lifted his arm, gesturing to the brush next to them.

"Oh-kay," Patrick smiled, "you're good, I mean you guys are really, _really_ good." He was still looking around. Sam, however, was rooted to the spot. And Patrick soon learned why.

"Damn it, Cas, I said _not_ dangerous!"

Lurking next to a tree a few feet away was a horrible looking creature. It stood about three feet from the ground, its skin leathery and dark brown, spines running down its back. It's lips were pulled back into a snarl, sharp teeth bared, forked tongue darting in and out.

"Sam?" Patrick said quietly. "Wh-what is that?"

"That's a we need to get the hell out of here," Sam said, grabbing his arm and hauling him toward Castiel.

The angel grimaced and sighed before touching each other their heads again just as the little imp dove toward them.

Castiel fell onto Patrick's couch when they appeared back in the station. Both Cho –the only agent present in the room- and Dean's eyes grew when the trio suddenly materialized.

Sam looked from his brother to the agent, wide eyed and worried. Patrick had a hand on his forehead, sitting down next the wheezing angel, paled.

"I don't know what the hell just happened," Cho said. "But if you guys say I didn't see anything I'll believe you."

"You didn't see anything," Dean said quickly.

"Good enough for me," he said and bent back over the file in front of him.

"What was that?" Patrick said, looking up at him. "I mean what the hell was that?"

"A chupacabra," Sam said.

"You saw a what?" Dean exclaimed from his cuffed spot on the bench. "What the hell, Sam, where you tryin' to kill him?"

"No!" Sam retorted. "I told Cas _not _dangerous and then he takes us to the freakin' Amazon right next to one!"

"My apologies," Castiel gasped. "It was the first thing that came to mind. It was hard enough getting us there in the first place."

"You alright?" Sam asked. Castiel didn't answer. He simply shut his eyes and leaned his head back.

"Alright I want to know how you did that," Patrick said, standing.

"I told you, this stuff is real," Sam explained.

"No, I want to know how you got us from Sacramento to Argentina!" He was beyond freaked out. But that was the usual reaction.

"Well…" Sam began, looking at Dean, who gave a "what the hell, why not?" shrug. Sam took a deep breath. "Castiel is… isn't exactly-"

"He won't believe you," Castiel said without opening his eyes. "Despite what he just saw happen there is no way he'd believe you. I'd save your breath." Sam frowned.

"What?" Patrick asked, looking between the two. "What won't I believe?"

"Uh, that, um, that-"

"That Cas is an angel," Dean said, cutting off his brother's stammering.

"We should get everyone else in here," Cho said, standing and walking toward the break room. "This is absolutely insane and I didn't see you appear out of thin air right in front of me but I think everyone should hear this so you three can plead insanity."

Patrick was sitting at Van Pelt's desk now, staring at Castiel and shaking his head.

"No," he said firmly. "I saw that creature; I know we were in that place. But he is not… he can't be… there's no such thing!"

"Told you," Castiel grumbled.

"But you believe us about the whole 'mythical creatures are real' thing, right?" Dean said. "I mean, you get it now? You get that these murders aren't us?"

"Do I have a choice?" He said, looking horribly exasperated. He ran his hands over his face, his weariness finally showing through.

"Okay," Lisbon said, walking into the bullpen with Cho, Rigsby and Van Pelt in tow. "What the hell is going on?"

* * *

"This is insane," Lisbon said, elbows on her knees. Van Pelt nodded. "This is absolutely insane."

"I know this goes against everything you guys think is true," Sam said. Dean nodded, agreeing with him. "But you have to trust us. We can get these murders to stop, but you have to let us go."

"No," Rigsby said. "You guys are nuts. There's no way we're letting you _lunatics_ out of here!" He looked over at Lisbon. "Right, Boss?" Lisbon said nothing. She kept her eyes on her hands. "Boss?"

"If Jane believes them… I mean, if he's says they're telling the truth…"

"You can't be serious!" Rigsby exclaimed.

"Lisbon, we-" Van Pelt began.

"Has he ever steered us wrong? Ever?" She asked. Patrick looked up. No one said anything. "I'm not saying that I can wrap my head around this, or even totally believe it or... I don't know. I just don't know. But I do know that if Patrick says that he believes them, then so do I."

She went to Dean, taking the handcuffs from his wrists.

"Boss, you –"

"I've got five people with the same testimony. That doesn't happen often and when it does, it is, undoubtedly the truth. If this were a normal situation what would we do?"

Van Pelt and Rigsby eyed Sam, Dean and Castiel suspiciously before looking at Cho and Patrick with worry.

"I want proof," Van Pelt said firmly, frowning. The brothers exchanged glances.

"We can get it. We just need time," Dean said. "Give us a little bit, alright?"

"There's a condition to this," Lisbon said. Sam and Dean frowned. "You have to work with us, we get to know what you know and visa versa. This may be over our heads but I want to do this as by-the-book as we can, alright?"

"If you say so, sweetheart."

"Get us some proof," Lisbon said. "For the rest of us, anyway. Without that, I can't believe you guys."

"Can do," Dean said. "We need to get our stuff though."

"And how do we know-"

"They won't go anywhere," Patrick assured, cutting Rigsby off.

No one said anything or moved for a beat.

"Then we'll be back in a minute," Dean said, walking out of the bullpen.

Patrick was staring at the floor, slowly gaining his composure back. His lack of sleep was wearing on him, and this was only making it worse.

But what he couldn't take, what was driving him absolutely mad was that his wife and daughter followed him wherever he went. They were standing next to him right now, and it took everything he had not to scream at the top of his lungs that he couldn't take it anymore.


	10. A Fire Inside

10

**A Fire Inside**

"'We can get it, we just need time'," Sam mocked. "How the hell are we gonna do that, Dean?"

"I don't know," Dean snapped. "I just said it to shut 'em up! How the hell are we supposed to get them proof that these ghosts exist, take a camera?" Castiel let out a long, tired sigh, shaking his head a little.

"Take them with you when you find out when the next attack will be," he said quietly from the back seat. "You'll have proof and back up if you need it."

The two brothers exchanged glances at the blatantly obvious suggestion, both feeling equally as stupid for not noticing it sooner.

"Right…" Dean mumbled. "So, we'll, uh, go get our stuff, head back there and see if we can figure out when the next ghost is gonna show up."

"Dean, we don't even know why this is happening!" Sam exclaimed. "This isn't one ghost killing people it's a bunch of different ghosts! How the hell does that happen? And all in one area? Something is making this happen."

"What? What's making this happen?" Dean asked rhetorically. "Until we can figure this out we treat this like any run-of-the-mill salt and burn, alright?"

"I'll…I'll call Bobby," he resolved. "Maybe he knows what the hell is going on. You have to admit, Dean, this is weird. Even by our standards."

"I never said it wasn't," he admitted. "I don't know, it…it's weird but it isn't."

"I think we need to talk to the families again," Sam muttered. "Maybe we're missing something there."

"Yeah," Dean nodded. "How do you think they're doing?"

"They're probably trying to figure out when they'll wake up from this insanity," Castiel said bluntly. Dean chuckled. "I'm glad you find it amusing. They sure don't."

* * *

"You really believe them, don't you?" Lisbon asked. Patrick nodded, trying not to look as solemn as he felt. He smiled that fake smile he had so perfected, using what was left of his damaged walls to block what he was truly feeling from his expression, his demeanor, and most of all, his eyes.

"Absolutely," he smirked, standing from Van Pelt's chair and plopping on his couch. "I wouldn't put such faith into them if I didn't believe them," he said pointedly.

"So…what did it look like?" Rigsby asked curiously.

"What? Oh, the chupacabra," he chuckled. "Right, well, it was impish, most definitely. It wasn't very tall, sharp teeth, claws, scaly… Angry looking too," he laughed again. "This is so insane."

"You're telling me," Van Pelt mumbled.

"I don't understand why you're so calm about all of this," Lisbon huffed.

"I'm not calm, I'm…composed," Patrick amended. "Just like our friend Cho, here." Cho looked up from his paperwork.

"Stop bringing me into this," he said stoically. "It makes it harder to try and ignore it."

"See?" Patrick leaned back, his arm slung over the back of the couch. "Composed, but far from calm."

"So you're just a freaked out as we are?" Rigsby asked. Patrick nodded.

"If not more so. But, in crisis, the best thing you can do is not panic."

"We're not panicking!" Lisbon exclaimed. Patrick smiled.

"Oh trust me," he said, nodding wisely. "You will be."

"What do we do now, Boss?" Van Pelt asked.

"We wait for the Ghostbusters to get back," she sighed. Patrick smiled at the terminology and leaned his head back, shutting his eyes.

_Ignore them, Patrick,_ he told himself. _It's not really there. They aren't there, they can't be. You're losing your mind. You never should have been released from that asylum._

_I'm not crazy._

_Ah, but it's the crazy ones that say they aren't crazy, aren't they?_

_I…I just need sleep. I haven't been getting much lately. The nightmares…_

_Yes, the nightmares. _

_They don't feel like nightmares, they feel… they feel…_

_What? Real? Ha! You really are losing it. That's not possible. _

_But…but Sam and Dean, they said ghosts are-_

_They haven't proven yet that ghosts exists. All they showed you was a little devil in the middle of the rainforest. I'm sure if you Googled it right now it would come up as some endangered primate._

_Now who's the one kidding themselves? You know what you saw, why deny it?_

_God, why won't they leave me alone? Why won't they let me sleep..?_

_Maybe this has something to do with you being so close to Red John recently…_

"…Jane?"

"Sorry, what?"

"I said you look like hell," Lisbon said. "You alright?" For a split second, he wanted to tell her everything. He wanted to tell her why he wasn't sleeping, what he was seeing and how he hadn't slept in a week.

But he smiled, and nodded. "Just fine."

"Maybe you should head home and-"

"No!" He said far too quickly. He smiled again to reassure her frown. "No, I should be here and help." She eyed him suspiciously. "Really, Lisbon, I'm fine."

She dropped the subject, walking away.

He ran a hand over his face. He was losing it. What he was sure he could fight, could keep away from his mind and keep it from bothering him was getting to him. It was wearing him down. He was losing his ability to think clearly.

He shook his head, standing to go get yet another cup of tea, which was the only thing keeping him awake at the moment.

_Maybe you should tell Sam and Dean._

_No._

_Why not?_

_Because the lives of others is more important than my little dilemma._

_Little? Little? You-_

_SHUT UP!_

He took a big gulp from his cup and shook his head, shaking out the cobwebs.

_You're fine, you're fine, you're fine…_

"Jane," Rigsby said. He turned. "The crazies are back."


	11. Code Red

11

**Code Red**

"So, explain why we need to talk to the families again?" Rigsby asked, arms folded over his chest. Dean shook his head. Skeptics.

"Because we might've been asking the wrong questions," Sam explained. "Before we were looking for isolated incidents. But there might be more in common with the cases than we think."

"Like?" Lisbon urged.

"Like there might be the same problem with all of 'em," Dean said. "There's gotta be something connecting all of them."

"Alright," she said, glancing at her watch. "Little before six. Rigsby, Van Pelt, come with me. Sam, Dean, see what else you can figure out and if you can get a hold of, uh…"

"Bobby?" Dean offered.

"Yeah, him," she said. "Cho, keep an eye on them. Castiel, uh," The drowsy angel looked up. "Just, stay there. Jane, go home and get some rest."

"Lisbon, I'm-"

"That's an order," she said firmly. "Cho, make sure he gets home, too." Cho nodded, looking at Patrick, who sighed and grabbed his jacket.

"Alright, alright," he said. "I'm leaving."

She didn't see his hand shake as he pushed the button for the elevator. She didn't hear his heart pounding in anticipation. He didn't want to be alone with them. He was scared, so very, very scared.

But he went. He didn't have anywhere else to go.

He kept his eyes away from them when he got into his apartment. He shut and locked his door, hands still shaking. He went directly into his bathroom, shutting the door behind him and wondering if they would follow him in there. To his relief, they didn't.

He rested his hands on either side of the sink, letting his head hang. He was so tired, exhausted to the point of breaking. He felt as if he were on the brink of madness. This couldn't be real.

He swallowed the lump in his throat and looked up, into the mirror in front of him.

Lisbon was right, he looked like hell. He was pale. His eyes were dulled, dark circles underneath them. He looked haggard and weary, just as he felt. His bleeding heart didn't show on his face, and he was at least thankful for that.

He turned on the shower, undressing and stepping inside. He turned his face up into the warm water, letting the heat work out some of the kinks in his neck and shoulders. He ran his hand over his face, trying to think. He could solve this, as soon as he understood what playing field he was on. But he had an unfair advantage for once. Sleep deprivation and emotional torment wasn't a fair game.

He shut his eyes, taking a deep breath.

He swayed a little, his eyes opening once more. He was more tired than he thought. There was no way he would sleep tonight. Absolutely none. No, no they wouldn't let him. He bowed his head, hot tears mingling with the drops of water sliding down his cheeks.

He ran his hand through his sopping curls, stretched to his limit. Stressed more than he had been in a very, very long time. Seven years long time.

He shut off the water when it turned cold. He dried off and wrapped the towel around his waist before hesitantly reaching for the door.

They were there when he opened it, across that room, smiling, but in a different way. There was no love in their gaze. Their expression and grins were that of malice. Their eyes were hollowed black holes, teeth gnarled.

His eyes grew and he grew even paler. He backed toward his room, his eyes never leaving them. He fumbled for the doorknob, shaking a little.

His fingers finally gained purchase and he slammed the door behind him. Right, as if that would keep them out.

He dressed as quickly as he could, looking over his shoulder every few seconds, looking for them.

He was about to pull a light blue, cotton t-shirt over his head when an icy hand touched his back. He spun around, gasping and breathing hard.

His wife stood before him, looking murderously angry.

"It's your fault," she hissed. "It's all your fault." She moved closer to him. He backed into his dresser, shaking again.

"Wh-what?" He breathed.

"You killed me, Patrick. You let him kill us."

"No, no I swear I didn't know, I-"

"LIAR!" She screamed. Without warning or her laying a hand on him, he flew across the room, slamming into the opposite wall. He cried out, greatly startled, landing hard on his side.

She grabbed his face, forcing him to look at her. "I'M DEAD BECAUSE OF YOU!" She screamed.

"I'm sorry…" he sobbed. "Please, I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to…" He looked away from her, crying.

"You killed me too, Daddy."

He cried harder, his hand on his chest at the sound of that little voice. "Where were you when he was cutting me up? Where were you when I was crying for you to help me?"

"Or when he slit her throat?" She caressed his cheek, but it wasn't comforting, it was mocking. "What about me, Patrick? Did you hear me when I screamed for you? He was carving away at my insides and you were nowhere. It's all your fault. You might as well have done it yourself, right?"

He didn't answer. She suddenly slashed her nails across his cheek, making him bleed. He cried out, jumping back, trying to get deeper into the wall. "SAY IT!" She barked.

"It's my fault…" he choked.

"Say you killed us, Daddy."

"I-I killed you."

"All your fault…"

"I was so scared…"

"If you would've just kept your mouth shut…"

As they spoke Patrick buried his face in his knees, crying and trembling. He felt so horrible. What had he done?

That smiley face was there whenever he blinked, and now it was so much worse.

"I'm so sorry," he said it over and over again. "I'm so sorry, please. God, please…"

"God won't show you any mercy!"

"Not when you killed your little girl…"

His wife threw him across the room several times, and he felt as if he deserved every second of it. Every bruise.

After almost two hours of this unbearable torment they stopped, disappearing. He pushed his aching body off of the floor. He climbed into his bed, curling into a ball, covering his face and crying. He couldn't do it anymore. He wasn't strong enough to take this. Who cares if Lisbon thought he was crazy? He had to tell her. She was his best friend. And he couldn't do this all alone anymore.

* * *

"So what did you find out?" Sam asked.

Castiel was up and around now, looking at random photos on the wall curiously.

"All of the families said the same thing," Rigsby said. "The person who died was tired for almost ten days before they died. They said the person claimed to be seeing a dead loved one and that the dreams felt real. Well, of course no one believed them, but then they end up dead."

"Was their any other connection between the people who died and their dead family members?" Dean asked.

"All of them seemed to've died accidentally," Van Pelt said. The two brothers looked at each other.

"Did these people blame themselves for their family member's death?" Dean asked.

"Yeah," Rigsby said. "The families said all of 'em were pretty messed up about it." Dean looked at Lisbon.

"You might wanna call blondie, sweetheart," he said ominously. "He's gonna need to hear this."

She nodded and left the bullpen, taking out her phone and heading for the elevator.

But Patrick was already there.

He had just staggered off of the elevator, his eyes red and puffy. He'd changed back into the slacks he had on earlier and the blue button up shirt but, to say the least, his appearance was disheveled. She could see a bruise on his neck and the still-bleeding scratches on his cheek. His lips were shaking in time with his hands. He looked scared and broken, and that scared the crap out of her.

"Patrick?" She said quietly, walking toward him slowly. Without warning, he collapsed to his knees.

She went to him quickly, bending down and holding his face in her hands. "Patrick, what's wrong?" She exclaimed. He looked up at her, tears in his wounded eyes.

"Lisbon…help me."


	12. Bloodshot Eyes

**-NO JISBON!** k? :)-

12

**Bloodshot Eyes**

"Lisbon…help me." She was scared, no she was terrified. Had he really just said what she thought he did?

"Wh-what's wrong?" She asked, her hands on his shoulders. He looked at her, lips shaking. "Hey, hey, easy, it's alright, Patrick. What's wrong?"

"I c-can see them, Lisbon," he choked. "I can see them."

"See who?" She could feel him trembling underneath her hands.

"M-my wife and daughter…I can see them, Lisbon." Her eyes grew to record size at his quivering words. She looked at him, into those bright blue pools of agony. It made her chest ache to look into those eyes.

"Like, like nightmares?" She asked. He shook his head.

"No, no when I'm awake. I th-thought they were nightmares t-too. I see them when I'm awake." She carefully touched the scratches on his face, thumbing his cheek. She could partially see a bruise coming out of the collar of his shirt on his neck. His wrist looked as if someone had grabbed it, hard. "I h-haven't slept in almost t-ten days."

"Did…did they hurt you?" She asked, though she already knew the answer. He nodded, tears in his eyes.

"P-please, Lisbon, I…I can't do it anymore. Please…" He broke down entirely then. He fell against her, sobbing almost violently. He trembled against her, his face in her neck.

"Shh…it's alright, Patrick. It's alright. Shh…" She stroked the back of his head.

Van Pelt walked around the corner to see where Lisbon was. She froze when she saw the scene in front of her, turning on her heel and walking back into the bull-pen.

"Interrogation room," she said brusquely, gathering files in her hands.

"What?" Dean said, looking up at her. "Why?"

"Just get up," she sighed. They were still for another beat before standing and making their way out. Dean came back in the room, grabbed Castiel's collar and drug him away.

Lisbon was still holding Patrick, trying to get as much information out of him as she could.

"It's my fault," he sobbed. "It's all my fault." Lisbon shook her head.

"No, no it's not your fault, Patrick, you didn't know what he would do."

"I should've just kept my stupid mouth shut," he spat, his words filled with self-loathing.

"Patrick, can you see them right now?" She asked. He shook his head. "Were they angry when you first saw them?"

"No," he croaked. "No, th-they were happy to see m-me. Then…then they got mad…" He started to sob again, harder than before.

"Okay, okay, Patrick, it's alright. Shh…" She touched his cheek, lifting his face. "Okay, Patrick, come with me." She took his hands, helping him stand. She led him into the bullpen, setting him down on the couch. His couch.

"I'll be right back, alright? Don't move." She touched his face again before walking away.

He sniffed, his face soaked in tears, trembling all over. Lisbon came back a few moments later, a pillow and blanket in her hands. She set the pillow on the arm of the couch and gently took his hand.

"Lie down, Patrick," she said gently. "It's okay, lie down. Shh…" He rested his head on the pillow, sighing, still shaking , his breath coming in quick gasps.

She covered him up, tucking the blanket around him and rubbing his forehead. She pushed his lank curls out of his eyes. "Shhh, you need to sleep, honey, alright?"

"Y-you believe me, d-don't you?" Those eyes…It was as if his sanity depended on her believing him. He was so scared, so broken. This is how he felt every day, on the inside anyway. He'd been worn down so much he had no façade to protect him anymore.

"Yes, Patrick," she said honestly. "I believe you." His sobs started again and he leaned into her hand, relieved.

"Shh, hush, hush, it's alright. Shh… Just sleep, Patrick. Just sleep." He looked so miserable, so broken, so alone. It was tearing her up looking at him. She knew what the grief did to him on a daily basis, she could see it whenever someone brought up Red John. There was that moment of anguish that flashed in his eyes before he shut down and got angry.

Not now. Now there was only that horrible, horrible agony that stripped his face naked and made her want to hug him until he wasn't crying anymore. The poor thing…

She continued to rub his forehead, seeing the fatigue appear in his weary features. He sniffled, still crying softly. She was surprised she didn't see blood on his chest from his shattered heart. "Shh," she soothed. "It's alright. Don't cry, don't cry, shh…"

Slowly, Patrick's eyes closed a little more as the minutes went on until they finally closed. His breathing was deep, even, and his sobs ceased. She wiped the remaining tears from his cheeks. She sighed, standing gingerly, trying not to wake him.

She walked into the room with everyone else, rubbing her temples.

"What's wrong with Jane?" Cho asked.

"I think I know who the next victim is," she said, exasperated. The two brother's eyes grew.

"Patrick?" Sam asked.

"He just told me what you guys told us about word for word. What's happened to those other people is happening to him."

"Who's he seeing?" Dean asked.

"His wife and daughter," Castiel said. Everyone in the room turned.

"Cas, how do you know that?" Dean said.

"I know a lot about people, Dean. You know that."

"And how is that?" Rigsby asked. Dean and Sam exchanged glances as Castiel turned his attention to the young man.

"I'm an angel of the Lord."

The room froze. Sam sighed, hanging his head. Dean rested his face in his hand.

"WHAT?" Cho exclaimed, showing more emotion than he had the entire time Sam and Dean had been there. Castiel just looked at him. "Ghosts, fine, monsters, okay, but this? No, no, nuh uh…" He shook his head.

"He's telling the truth," Sam said. "He's an angel."

"Prove it," Van Pelt said quietly.

Without warning, thunder crashed, the sun disappeared, and black shadows spread behind him in the shape of wings.

Lisbon backed into the wall behind her, Cho remained motionless, Van Pelt's jaw was almost on the table and Rigsby fell out of his chair.

"Told ya," Dean said. Sam looked around at everyone, smiling a little as the shadows faded and the sun came out from behind the clouds.

"Alright, Sammy, go call Bobby," Dean sighed. "I'll deal with them."

Sam nodded and stood, taking out his phone.

"Hey, Bobby, quick question…"

* * *

Patrick opened his eyes when he felt the temperature around him plummet. He huddled closer into himself, looking around, his eyes still swollen.

There she was. Her hands were clenched into fists, lips pulled back in a snarl. She looked as if she were decaying, her chest heaving, blood all over her from the wounds that monster had inflicted on her. Her eyes were filled with such hatred as she looked at him. He started to shake.

"YOU SON OF A BITCH!" She grabbed his shirt and threw him across the room. He cried out when he struck, coughing when he hit the ground, the wind knocked out of him.

"Please…" He choked. "Please, no…" She grabbed his face, nails biting his skin.

"I'm gonna do to you what he did to me," she hissed, a knife in her hand.

"Please," he gulped, trembling. "Please, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry…"

"I'm done listening to you, you pathetic, worthless piece of shit!"

The knife went through his shirt, sliding down his skin.

"LISBON!"


	13. Bleeding Love

13

**Bleeding Love**

Everyone froze when they heard the loud _BANG!_ from the bullpen, their heads whipping around toward the noise.

When Lisbon heard her name, heard Patrick scream it the way he did, she bolted out the door, drawing her gun.

"Shit!" Dean spat, taking out his own, more effective shot-gun and followed her, Sam not far behind.

Patrick was on the ground, his decomposing wife over him, covering his mouth to stifle his cries, visible to everyone else for the first time.

Lisbon stopped, her jaw falling. It was real. It was all real.

Sam and Dean acted quickly, seeing the bloody knife in the woman's hand.

"Hey, bitch!" Dean barked, aiming his gun at her. She looked up, her moss-strewn teeth bared, snarling. "Didn't anyone tell you the dead look went out with the nineties?" She let go of Patrick, her rage now centered on the hunters in front of her, as the Winchesters had hoped for.

They each fired without hesitation, watching as she dissipated into dust. She was gone, but definitely not for good.

It was the Lisbon gained her bearings and went to Patrick, who was shaking, bleeding and crying on the floor.

Dean knew absolute guilt when he saw it. He had felt it often himself. He knew that pain, that agony he was seeing in his face. Guilt spilled over sometimes, especially in a situation like this. He understood completely.

"Uh, Dean," Sam said, gesturing over his shoulder. "I think we have some explaining to do." He turned.

The rest of the CBI agents had followed them, curious as to both what was happening and what the brothers were going to do about it.

All of them looked just as shocked as Lisbon had, well, except for Cho, he looked about the same.

Dean looked from them to Patrick and then to his brother.

"He's gonna need stitches after what she did," he said quietly. "I'll stitch him up, you tell them what the hell they just saw." Sam nodded.

"Shh, shh, it's okay, it's okay," Lisbon soothed, wiping tears from his cheeks. "Shh, I know, I know it hurts, shh…"

She looked up at Dean when he approached them, looking almost as freaked out as Patrick did.

"We need to take him to a hospital," she said.

"We can't-" Dean began, but she cut him off.

"What the hell do you mean 'we can't'?" She bellowed.

"You wanna explain why he's so beat up and so freaked out to a doctor, then be my guest," he said. "But when he starts talking about seeing his dead wife and kid and they cart him off to Crazytown just remember what I said."

"What are we supposed to do?" She asked, her voice much quieter than before.

"I can stitch him up better than most doctors can," he said. "Trust me, I've had practice." She frowned, looking down at Patrick, who was still trembling, his face in her chest.

"Look, I'm not gonna hurt him," Dean assured. "When you don't have insurance cards or money you learn to adapt. Doctors always ask stupid questions anyway."

She hesitated a moment longer before nodding her approval.

Dean helped her get him up and back onto the couch.

"Shh…" she brushed his hair from his forehead. "Alright, Dean's gonna patch you up, okay?"

"N-no doctors?" He trembled, trying to smile a little. She smiled back.

"No doctors," she stood, reluctantly pulling away from him. "I'll be right back, alright?" He nodded, still shaking.

"I'll need a first-aid kit," Dean said. She nodded. Dean turned his attention back to Patrick. "You okay?" he asked. Patrick shook his head. Dean chuckled a little. "Stupid question, huh?"

Lisbon came back, handing Dean the first-aid kit.

"You should probably go in there with everyone else," Dean advised. "Sam'll be able to tell you what Bobby said and explain what you saw." She nodded, giving Patrick a sad look. "He'll be alright," he assured. "I promise."

She nodded and left the bullpen, looking back at Patrick at least three times before she did.

"Alright, Patrick, I have to get to those cuts, alright?" Dean said gently. Patrick nodded, his shaky hands going to the buttons on his shirt, still sniffling. He opened his shirt and moved his hands away. Dean grimaced.

The cuts on his chest were deep and long, as if that woman had pressed as hard as her spectral hand would allow. He was bruised from being thrown around so much, some of them blue. The scratches on his face were thin and had stopped bleeding a little while ago, but the blood was still there, diluted ad smeared by his tears.

Dean sighed, taking the peroxide and bandages from the box and snatching up his own bag. He dug through it, finally finding his and Sam's "custom" first-aid. He took out the needle and thread he would need as well as the bottle of whiskey nestled at the bottom of his bag.

He unscrewed the cap, carefully lifting Patrick's head. "Alright, just take a swig of this, okay? It'll help so it doesn't hurt as much." Patrick nodded weakly and swallowed a mouthful, grimacing when he did.

Dean laid him back down and threaded the needle, hating that he was about to do this. Patrick looked like hell, as if he'd been through it just as he had.

"This is gonna hurt," he warned. "But it won't take very long, I promise." Patrick nodded, closing his eyes and bracing himself.

He just wanted it to be over. His wife had carved into him mercilessly just a few minutes ago. He'd been forced to watch her take the greatest delight in making him scream, her iron grip over his now bruised mouth, teeth cutting into the inside of his lips from the force. She had hissed horrible, horrible things to him, blaming him for what he had done to her and what he had let happen to their child.

He tried to say he was sorry, but she would just press harder on his mouth, silencing him.

And now he was here, hissing and groaning in pain as the gashes were sewn together. But hey, at least he didn't have to go to the hospital.

Dean put bandages over the cuts once he was done, apologizing for the tenth time. "Alright, just a little longer, okay? Just a little longer and you can sleep." He cleaned the blood off of his face, made sure that his ribs weren't broken and took the bloodied shirt away.

"I'm not feelin' you up, I promise," he assured. Patrick nodded, tears in his eyes.

"It'll be alright," Dean assured, pulling the blanket over his shoulders. "It'll get better, I promise." Watery blue eyes met his own, looking curious. "My dad died because of me," he said quietly. "I know how you feel."

Patrick just looked at him, tears fresh. "Wh-why is this hap-pening to me?" He gulped.

"Because you feel guilty about what happened to your wife and kid," he explained. "Whatever this is attacks people like you. People who have lost someone and feel like it's their fault."

"S-so it could h-happen to y-you?"

"Yeah," Dean nodded. "I guess it could."

And if that were the case, it could happen to Sam too.


	14. Blush Blush Blush

14

**Blush Blush Blush**

"I still can't believe it," Van Pelt said, shaking her head.

"They told us they'd get us proof," Cho said matter-of-factly. "You thought they were lying?"

"I…I don't know!" She exclaimed, standing. "I mean, I thought spirits existed but…but I didn't…"

"Think they were bad?" Sam offered. She nodded. "Not all of them are, just most of the ones we deal with. Some of 'em are just lost and won't let go. And others…"

"So what does, uh, Bobby think about all of this?" Lisbon asked, trying to keep her mind off of Patrick.

"He's supposed to call me back in a little while," Sam said. "He was doing some research on all of this to try and get us a better idea of what it is and how to kill it."

"He better call soon," Cho said, sounding angry. "Jane shouldn't have to go through all of this again. It's not fair."

"Rigsby?" Lisbon said, putting her hand on his shoulder. "Are you alright?"

"It's real," he said, not looking up from his hands. "It's actually real. I…Sorry, Grace. I guess I believe you now."

"Jane won't," Cho said. "He'll deny everything after all of this."

"Well that's on him," Lisbon said. The others nodded. Castiel was staring out the small window in the door, frowning, watching Dean clean up the broken man. He shook his head sadly.

"I would like to eliminate whatever is doing this as well," he said, surprising everyone else, especially Sam. "Patrick Jane has been through more anguish than any of you could imagine."

"I dunno about that," Sam mumbled.

"The pain you have felt for Jessica and your father is nothing compared to how he feels," Castiel said. "Not that that in itself wasn't agonizing, so don't look at like that. I do not understand how it feels in particular, but I see Patrick's soul. I know how tortured it is. You have never known the pain of losing a child, Sam. None of you have. It is the cruelest of tortures and of the most awful agony that you could imagine. And that is under normal circumstances. He blames himself for what has happened to his wife and child. The weight on his mind and his heart is crushing. It's killing him from the inside out, which is why he is the way he is. Only in Red John's capture and death will he find peace."

The CBI agents' eyes were wide. They didn't know Castiel could speak that much all at once. Sam was staring down at his hands. Lisbon ran her hand over her face, emotionally exhausted. She couldn't say that she understood how Patrick felt because she didn't. But she did know what it was doing to him. She saw it in his eyes every day. It had never been this bad before.

She had never seen him cry. She'd heard him, once. That gave her some insight to how much it hurt. How much he hated himself and how desperately he missed them.

Now, seeing it, seeing him so broken and scared and tortured like this, she could see how he felt inside, and how little he slept on a nightly basis, whether he was seeing ghosts or not.

"Do ghosts usually act like this?" Van Pelt asked. "I mean, are they this horrible to the people they love?"

"Sometimes," Sam said. "It depends whether they're angry or not."

"So Jane's wife and kid are mad at him?" Rigsby asked.

"That doesn't make sense," Lisbon said, shaking her head. "They were happy, all of them. I don't think his wife would be like this."

"Which is why we're trying to figure this out. I mean, it makes sense why these people are coming back," Sam said. "They all died violent deaths and they're blaming the person who they feel is responsible for their deaths." Cho shook his head.

"I don't think they'd be angry with him," he said. "They don't seem the type to act like that. And how can a kid be an evil ghost?"

"It's news to us too," Sam said. "There is a type of spirit called an Acheri that takes the form of a little girl. But they usually attack other children."

"So this makes about as much sense to you as it does to us?" Van Pelt asked. Sam nodded.

"Pretty much. Until Bobby calls, there's nothing we can really do."

* * *

Dad, Mom, Jess, Ellen, Jo, Pamela, Ash, Henrickson, Nancy…God, so many people had died because of them. Maybe they were next. It wasn't like they didn't have the candidates for it. He and Sam had already dealt with something like this before, when Meg and Henrickson had come back during the "rise of the witnesses" last year when Lilith was screwin' with the seals.

They could be in serious trouble, pending on what this was. He shook his head, trying not to think about how horrifying it would be to see his mother as murderously angry at him as Patrick's wife had been.

Patrick moaned in his sleep, face screwing up in pain.

"I'm sorry," He rasped. "I'm so sorry, please…"

"Shh…" Dean soothed, touching his forehead. "Hey, hey, wake up, it's alright. Shh…"

Patrick's teary eyes opened a little, tired and confused.

"Wh-what-?"

"Shh, go back to sleep. It was just a dream. Shh…" His eyes closed again, body relaxing as he slipped back into his fitful slumber, burying his face deeper in the pillow.

Dean sighed, his elbows resting on his knees. The shotgun was leaning against the chair he was in, just in case mommy dearest or demon child showed up again.

He wished Sam would hurry up and explain everything so that Lisbon chick could come back. She knew Patrick a helluva lot better than he did. And they seemed to be close in a brother-sister kind of way.

Truth be told, he didn't really know what to do. He just ignored the guilt he felt –or tried to- and moved on, or tried to. He didn't know how to help him. He didn't know how to help someone that had been pushed to the breaking point, who couldn't take it anymore.

He shook his head again. He sat there, lost in his own thoughts for a little while longer before someone touched his shoulder.

He looked up, startled.

"Sorry," Lisbon said. "Uh, Sam wants to talk to you."

He nodded and stood, walking toward the office everyone had crowded in.

She grabbed his arm, stopping him short. He looked down at her. "Thank you," she said quietly.

"No problem," he said, smiling a little. They looked at each other for a second, a beat of awkward silence. Dean cleared his throat.

"Uh, you, um, you should sit with him," Dean said. She nodded letting him go.

"Right," she said quietly as he walked away. She sat down, cursing herself. "Stupid, stupid, stupid."

"He likes you too," Patrick said softly. She flushed a deep red.

"I don't know what you're talking about," she mumbled. He smiled a little, his eyes still closed.

"You're a liar," he said hoarsely. She pursed her lips, still red.

"Shut up and go back to sleep," she snapped. His smile grew.

"If you insist…liar." He was asleep before she could say anything else.

"What did Bobby say?" Dean asked in a hushed voice.

"It's not a what that's doing this," Sam said quickly. "It's a who."

"What?" Dean exclaimed. Sam gave him a warning look, nodding to the people behind him as a signal to be quiet. "Sorry. Then what the hell is it?"

"Fear. The demon Fear." Dean stopped, staring at his brother in skepticism. Sam sighed when he saw "yeah, you're full of shit, Sammy" expression.

"You're kidding right?" Dean said.

"No, Dean I'm not. I wish I was. This isn't good. This thing feeds off of fear-"

"Duh," Dean snorted. Sam rolled his eyes.

"…Sadness and guilt. It feeds off of people's vulnerabilities," he finished, bitch-face firmly in place.

"And what better way to do that then make people go Jennifer Love Hewitt," Dean sighed.

"The visions get stronger the longer they're around," Sam continued. That's why only the people they're haunting can see them at first. Then, once they're strong enough, they start hurting them and then kill them."

"How do we kill it?" Dean asked, exasperated.

"Still working on that. An exorcism should work, but we have to find one old enough and powerful enough to actually exorcise it," he said.

"And lemme guess, you haven't told the tie-brigade what's goin' on, have you?"

"Not yet," Sam admitted. "Ghosts are hard enough to swallow, let alone demons."

"Well, they'll have to know sooner or later." Sam nodded and clapped him on the shoulder.

"Go for it." Dean glared at him.

"Bitch."

"Jerk."

* * *

He stirred from his doze, his swollen eyes opening just a little. He registered that someone was holding his hand, but it was cold in the room again.

His eyes grew.

"Li-"

A small giggle echoed through the office.


	15. Paint it Red

15

**Paint it Red**

Patrick and Lisbon froze, the tiny laugh echoing in their ears.

"No," Patrick breathed, looking around frantically.

"Patrick…" Lisbon reached for him. Before she could touch him he flew across the room, slamming into a wall, tearing stitches open. "PATRICK!"

He was on the floor, clutching his side, coughing, trying to breathe.

He looked up, his heart tearing, lips shaking as he looked at his baby-girl. She was smiling maliciously, her angelic face twisted in demonic horror.

"SAM, DEAN!" Lisbon yelled, running toward Patrick.

"You wanna play a game, Daddy?" His daughter giggled. He shook his head.

"No, no, baby, please," he begged, shaking his head.

"Don't be mean, Daddy," she frowned. "Let's play hide-and-seek."

Lisbon was almost to him. She was right behind the girl when she fell, running into something she couldn't see. She shook her head, dizzy.

"Please-"

"We'll hide." Sam and Dean ran into the bullpen, drawing their guns. "And they'll seek."

A blink later and they were both gone.

"PATRICK!" Lisbon stood, spinning around.

"Son of a bitch!" Dean bellowed.

"Where did they go?" Lisbon demanded. "Where the hell did she take him?"

"We don't know," Dean said truthfully. "But they can't get out of this building."

"And how the hell do you know that?" She growled.

"It'd take to long to explain but trust us, they can't take Patrick anywhere out of here."

Cho, Van Pelt and Rigsby came up behind them, sawn-offs in their hands.

"Search the building!" She ordered. "Patrick's daughter took him somewhere but they can't get out of the building!" They nodded and took off in separate directions.

"I'm gonna check upstairs," Sam said. Dean nodded.

"I'm goin' with you," he said to Lisbon. "Just in case you need the back-up."

"Fine!" She said, storming off and running for the stairs. These things were strong enough to kill now. If they didn't find Patrick soon… She didn't even want to think about it.

Dean kept pace with her, just as worried. He may not have liked Patrick very much because of how nosy he was, but the last thing he wanted was for him to die because they didn't find him in time.

Lisbon was frantic. _Patrick, WHERE ARE YOU?_

* * *

He had his hands over his ears, crying into his knees, trying not to listen to the horrible voices around him.

"He slit my throat, Daddy," the little voice said, her icy hand forcing his eyes up. "Look." She pointed to the large gash, now turned green against her pale and putrid skin.

"No, no, no…" he moaned, face returning to his knees. "Please, please…"

"Wassamatter, Daddy?" She asked, her laugh horrible. "Can't look at me 'cause it's your fault?" He sobbed harder.

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry…"

She threw him to the other side of the shower room, slamming him into the tile so hard it broke.

"Sorry won't bring me back." She threw him to the ceiling, letting him crash to the floor.

He coughed hard, covered in blood from new wounds and the old ones that had come unstitched.

The shower heads came on, drenching in icy water in seconds. He started to tremble, staring at his daughter. She giggled, smiling. She tossed him around like a rag doll, jumping up and down and clapping her little hands together, joyous at her father's agony.

He finally landed face first on the tile again, coughing, blood running down the drain as he choked on the small amount of water that rested at the bottom. He pushed himself up on shaking arms, but an unseen force shoved him back down again.

"Please…" He whimpered. "Don't do this, please." She giggled.

"Silly Daddy, we aren't done yet." She made him stand up, throwing him to the back wall, letting the freezing water soak him to his bones. He trembled violently, stifling his sobs with little success.

"You're not a very nice daddy," she frowned, pouting. "But you didn't have a very nice daddy either, did you?" He shook his head helplessly. She giggled.

"Well he wants to talk to you," she said, looking on the other side of the room, toward the janitor's closet.

Patrick's face went white when he saw who was standing inside it.

"No," he shook his head, eyes never leaving the closet. "Please, please, don't." He looked at the man's evil smile, that same smile he used to get right before he was beaten senseless. She tilted her head a little, sending him flying into the closet. The door slammed with a _BANG!_ , the room echoing with her giggle.

"NO! NO, NO, NOOOO!" Patrick's screams replaced it, banging on the door in a panic.

All sound ceased for a moment, nothing but the steady hiss of the water running.

"_AAAAAAAAHHHHHHHH_!"

* * *

Lisbon felt goosebumps shoot up her spine as the awful scream resounded through the building. At least they were the only ones left in it.

She looked at Dean, who looked just as scared as she did, and bolted toward the sound.

"Patrick?" She yelled. "Patrick, where are you?"

They ran into the shower room. The scene that met them was enough to tell them what had happened. There was still blood smeared on the tile, the water still running, the only sound besides her and Dean's heaving breaths.

"Patrick?" No sound. Just the water. "Patrick?"

Dean looked down at the floor, at the slow drizzle of blood that trekked across the floor. He nudged Lisbon, gesturing to it. Her eyes got wide when she saw where it ended.

She ran for the closet, ripping the door without regard for what else could be on the other side of it.

"Teresa!" Dean bellowed. She hit the floor just as the gun fired.

The man that had been standing over Patrick disappeared in a whirl of smoke.

Patrick's body was still, his eyes closed, soaked in water and blood. Lisbon gingerly touched his face, pushing his sopping curls out of his eyes.

"Patrick?" She said softly. "Patrick, wake up." She felt for a pulse, sighing in relief when she found one. "Patrick," she shook him lightly, her hand on his icy cheek. "C'mon, honey, wake up, look at me," she was getting frantic.

His eyes fluttered open slowly, instantly filling with tears and fear. He started to struggle a little, whimpering and crying.

"No, no, no, please!" He choked, shrinking away, trying to get away from Lisbon's hands.

"Shh, Patrick, Patrick, it's me!" She exclaimed, holding him still. He looked up at her, his eyes gut-wrenching. He clung to her as tightly as he could, shivering and sobbing violently. "It's alright, it's alright, shh…"

She took one of the towels from the shelf above them, wrapping it around his gooseflesh strewn shoulders.

"It's okay now," she soothed. "Shh," she kissed his temple. "Hush, hush, it's alright, sh…"

Dean was looking at the state of the room, closet and Patrick, trying to see all of the damage that was done and make sure the brat didn't show up again.

There were pieces of tile in Patrick's arm and shoulder from where he had broken the wall. The tips of his fingers were bleeding. Dean frowned and looked at the door. His eyes grew.

Whatever the hell had been in here was enough to make Patrick try to claw his way out. He looked terrified enough to. He was bruised and cut even more now, every one of his stitches from early busted. His lip was split, a deep purple bruise on his jaw, eye swollen just a little.

If he didn't get warm soon he'd catch hypothermia. Dean wasn't sure if he was shaking so hard from fear, crying, or cold, though.

"Teresa," Dean said. Lisbon looked up at him, surprised that he had called her that. "We need to get him out of here."

She nodded, absently stroking Patrick's hair while he sobbed.

"Make it stop," he breathed. "Make it stop, please…"

-Awn. TLC next chap!-


	16. Red Sky at Morning

-a'ight, **NO SLASH** intended between Dean and Patrick, 'kay? 'Kay.-

16

**Red Sky at Morning**

"Shh, I know, I know, it's okay. Shh…It'll be over soon," Dean assured, setting another piece of bloodied tile on the paper plate next to him.

Patrick was biting down on a rag from the break-room; his eyes shut tight, stinging tears leaking from under them. He relaxed a little when the piece was pulled out, but tensed almost immediately after when he realized there was more left.

He sobbed a little when the pliers closed around yet another piece of porcelain.

"It's alright," Dean assured, squeezing his hand. "Just a little longer." He pulled carefully; Patrick's hand closed around his as tightly as it could, his face red, hissing, muscles rigid. "Almost done, almost done," Dean swore.

True to his word, he took the last piece out, setting it with the other bloody pieces. Patrick relaxed, sobbing.

Dean looked at him, his eyes pained, and eased the kitchen towel out of his mouth. Patrick sniffed and looked up at him, totally shattered from the inside out.

A few of his ribs were cracked, not only from his daughter, but from whatever had been in the closet with him. New bruises had formed on his face, awful looking in both color and size. Someone beat the hell out of him.

Dean took the bottle of whiskey from next to the plate on the small table, lifting Patrick's head.

"Alright, you're gonna wanna drink more than last time, okay?" He said gently. Patrick nodded. He drank a few mouthfuls, grimacing at the burn in his already hoarse throat. "I know, I know, it's okay," Dean assured, taking the bottle away. He poured some on his mangled shoulder. Patrick cried out in pain, biting his already split lip, giving a dry sob.

"Sorry! Sorry!" He took the bottle away. "I know, I know it hurts, but it'll numb it a little, alright?" He nodded again, sniffling. "It'll be alright, it's okay. Shh…"

He stitched up the deeper cuts and wrapped the entire shoulder once he was done. Now he had not only the cuts from earlier to stitch up, but new ones as well.

"Okay, this is gonna hurt, alright?" He warned. Patrick shut his eyes, lips shaking, as a response.

Dean stitched up the cuts as quickly and carefully as he knew how before wrapping his injured torso.

Lisbon came up behind him, holding dry clothes. "I ran to his house," she said quietly. "I, uh, think that you, um, you should…" She was getting redder and redder as she spoke. He nodded, taking them from her, smiling a little.

"Yeah, I got it. I'm a dude, he's a dude. That'd be awkward, yeah, I get it." She smiled, embarrassed and walked away.

Dean sat back down next to Patrick, running his hand over his face. "Alright, Patrick, this is gonna be _really_ awkward for the both of us, so just bear with me, alright?"

Dean got him dressed and lied him back down, tucking the blankets tightly around him. He gave him some Tylenol and water to soothe his pain and hopefully prevent a fever.

"I-I'm so tired," he whimpered, the first words he had spoken since they'd left the storage closet.

"I know, I know," Dean said, his eyes pained. "Just sleep, Patrick. It's alright, just go to sleep. Shh…"

"Wh-what if th-they come back?" He trembled.

"It's okay," Dean put his hand on his forehead. "They won't hurt you anymore, I promise. It's alright, just sleep."

"P-please, m-my father-"

"Shh, don't worry about it, Patrick. He can't hurt you either. Did he die too?" He asked softly. He blanched when Patrick shook his head.

"I-I don't know w-where he is," he choked. "I h-haven't seen him i-in years…" Dean's brow was creased.

"Did he hurt you? Is that why you haven't seen him?" He asked, hoping he wasn't asking too much. Patrick nodded, shrinking into himself a little, crying again.

"Shh, hey, hey, it's alright. Don't cry, don't cry, shh…it's okay. He can't hurt you anymore, I promise. It's alright. Shh… Go to sleep, Patrick. It'll be okay."

Patrick nodded, closing his eyes, shaking in fear.

Dean sighed, waiting for his breathing to even out and his features to smooth. He rested his face in his hands when it happened, elbows on his knees.

"Is he alright?" He jumped, reflexively grabbing the shotgun in between his legs.

"Whoa, whoa, hey!" Lisbon said, putting her hands up. "It's me, relax!"

"Sorry," he said, putting it down and standing.

"Is he okay?" She repeated. He sighed.

"I don't think so," He admitted. She pursed her lips, looking at Patrick sadly. "He's pretty messed up." She sighed, running her hand through her hair.

"You and Sam can get rid of this thing, right?" She said softly. He nodded.

"We'll do whatever we can to kill this thing," he said firmly. She nodded. "I'm gonna go talk to Sam," he said, but he didn't move. She looked up at him, not moving either. "We need to figure out how to take this thing out."

"Yeah, that's a good idea," she said, still not moving either. They stood still for a moment longer before leaning toward each other, eyes closing.

Lisbon's heart was racing at the thought of who she was about to kiss, anticipation rising fast in her stomach.

"Dean." He stopped, so close to her lips he could almost feel them. He turned, taking a breath, angry, before he did.

"Yeah, Sam?" He growled.

"I need to talk to you," he said. Lisbon's face was red as she sat down, taking Patrick's hand, stroking his curls.

"What, Sam?" Dean spat irritably. Sam looked over his shoulder at Lisbon.

"Seriously? I don't think this is the time," he scolded.

"Yeah, thanks _Mom_. Now what's wrong?"

"Bobby called. Apparently if this stuff's happening and the building's sealed off with salt then…then the demon's here, Dean. It's in here with us."

"So, that means one of us is possessed?" He asked, incredulous that they had gone this long without noticing something was wrong with one of the agents.

"I already gave them all holy water, they're fine."

"So…there's someone else here."

-More soon!-


	17. Well Red

17

**Well Red**

"Demons," Rigsby said for probably the hundredth time.

"Yes, demons. You want to say it one more time just to be sure it's still there?" Cho asked, agitated.

"Sorry," He said, standing. "But this is a little much to take in, don't you think? I mean, ghosts, fine, monsters, okay, angels, a little much, but DEMONS?"

"Wayne, calm down," Van Pelt sighed, her fingers on her temples. "This has been a long night for everyone."

"Especially Jane," Cho said. Rigsby sat down. "We need to keep it together for his sake. He's been through enough without us losing it too." Van Pelt nodded in agreement.

"It's a lot for anyone to take in," Castiel said from his spot at the window. "But Kimball is correct. Sam and Dean are going to need all of your help to take care of this demon. And Patrick doesn't need any of this nonsense."

"'Nonsense'?" Rigsby said.

"Yeah, he's telling you to get over it," Cho said plainly. He looked at Castiel. "So what are Sam and Dean doing now?"

"They're trying to figure out who in this building is possessed by the demon." The agents looked at each other.

"Right, someone we know," Van Pelt breathed. Cho shook his head, staring down at his hands.

"You…" Rigsby began, "you guys don't think it's Lisbon, do you?"

* * *

"Why do I have to drink this?" Lisbon asked, staring at the glass of water Dean had handed her.

"It's to make sure you're not the one hurting Patrick," Dean said. She frowned, looking insulted.

"I-"

"Lisbon, just drink it," Sam sighed. She took a drink, waiting for something to happen. Nothing did. Sam and Dean sighed.

"Alright, so it's not you either," Dean said, taking the glass from her.

"Lisbon, is there anyone else in the building?" Sam asked. Her brow creased, as if she were thinking.

"Uh, besides the maintenance guys I think everyone else went home," she said. The brothers exchanged glances.

"We're gonna have to search the whole building," Sam said. Dean sighed.

"I'll get everyone else," he said. He looked at Lisbon. "Stay here with him. I don't wanna risk leaving him alone again." She nodded.

"I wouldn't have left him anyway," she said, pained eyes looking at Patrick, who was deep in sleep. He nodded and headed to her office, Sam in tow.

"Alright," he said, stepping inside. "We're gonna teach you guys how to hunt demons."

The three agents looked at each other warily before looking at the hunters.

"This wasn't in my job description," Van Pelt sighed.

"Cas, your mojo still works, right?" Dean asked. The angel looked at the floor. Dean and Sam looked at each other again, shocked, this time. "Alright, conversation for later."

"I'll get the holy water," Sam said.

"Yeah, I'll grab Dad's journal and the chalk."

"Chalk?" Van Pelt asked.

"We'll explain," Sam assured quickly, digging his now ringing phone from his pocket. "Bobby, hey, something wrong?"

"Yeah, you could say that," the older man said. "This Fear guy can't be exorcised with somethin' in your Dad's book. This thing's a real son of a bitch to get rid of."

"How bad is it?" Sam sighed, his hand over his eyes.

"Pretty damn bad. It takes a ritual, a damn old one too."

"Did-"

"I got it right here, idgit, don't worry."

"Oh."

"Yeah, 'oh'. Now, I can send you the exorcism. It's old Latin, but you can stumble your way through that, right?"

"Yeah, I'll be fine."

"Now here's the tricky part, kid. Devil's Traps don't work on this thing. Nothing'll really keep it still. Rocksalt and holy water might piss it off, but it won't do any real damage."

"So what do we do?"

"I'm gettin' to that. You're gonna need to make some sort of altar; you remember how to do that, right?"

"Yeah, I remember." The last time he had to do something like that was almost three years ago to banish what they thought was an angel, but yeah he remembered.

"Alright. You're gonna need to get some of that Holy Oil from Cas. It's the only thing that'll keep him in check and get him outta there. You'll need to burn Asafetida, Elecampane and Pennyroyal and some of that holy oil in a sacred basin. So find a bowl and have Cas touch it or somethin'. Burning that after you say the exorcism is the only way you can get that thing the hell outta there, alright?" He explained.

Sam read over the paper he'd been scribbling on one more time before nodding in approval. "Alright. I think we can handle that."

"You'd better hurry up," Bobby warned. "That thing gets a hold of your brother and you're screwed. This thing just doesn't live on people's guilt about dead relatives. This thing is an angst vacuum. The more someone's got, the more he feeds off of 'em. I think we both know what's stuck in Dean's head. Yours too, for that matter."

"We'll be careful, Bobby," he assured. "Thanks again."

"Hey, call me when this blows over, alright?" Sam smiled at the older man's worry.

"I will."

"Alright, bye."

"Bye."

Sam turned to the expectant faces behind him, smiling meekly.

"What'd Bobby want?" Dean asked. Sam sighed.

"You might want to sit down. This'll take a minute."

-Sorry it's so short folks! More next time!-


	18. Red Dead Revolver

18

**Red Dead Revolver**

Patrick stirred in his sleep, face screwing up in pain. He moaned, turning his face deeper into the pillow.

"Shh…" Lisbon soothed, touching his cheek. "It's alright, Patrick. It's okay. Shh…" He gasped, eyes opening, looking around. "Hey, hey, Patrick, it's alright. I'm here, it's okay."

"Lisbon?" She nodded, stroking his cheek. "What's happening?"

"It's almost over," she assured, smiling. "Sam and Dean found a way to make this all go away, alright?" He nodded, looking around nervously.

"H-have they come back?" His voice was so small, bloodshot eyes so scared.

"No, no honey, they haven't come back. Everything's gonna be alright. We won't let them hurt you anymore, okay?"

"Wh-what do they have to do? C-can they m-make them rest?" He trembled. God, even after all of this happened he was still more concerned about them than himself. She winced internally; he loved them so much.

"Patrick, listen to me," she said gently, holding his face. "Those things you saw were not your wife or daughter or even your father. It wasn't real. It was just an illusion." He frowned, looking confused, lips trembling.

"I-I don't understand."

"A demon is doing this to you, to all of those other people too. But Sam and Dean know how to get rid of it. Your daughter and your wife do not hate you. They don't blame you for any of that. The demon just used that to hurt you, alright? I swear. They love you just as much as you love them, okay?" She said softly, fingers combing through his hair.

There were tears on his face, still shaking. "Really?" He looked so small and lost. She hugged him tight, kissing his forehead.

"Hey, hey, it's alright. It's gonna be okay. This'll all be over soon," she assured.

"I just want it to be over," he gulped, breathing as ragged as his heart.

"I know, I know. Just rest, sweetheart. Just rest, it'll be alright. Shh…" She lied him back down, caressing his forehead. Patrick shut his eyes, not sleeping, but trying to get away from everything. He didn't know how to handle this. And it wasn't like he could be any help as far as this demon thing went.

So he waited. For what, he wasn't sure.

He leaned into Lisbon's hand, still shaking a little.

"Alright," Sam said, walking into the office, heading for the break-room. Everyone else filed in behind him. "We don't have to try and find who's possessed."

"What?" Lisbon blanched.

"All we have to do is perform this ritual and it'll banish it."

"So what're the shotguns for?"

"Uh, just in case," Dean said. "They're not gonna really do anything 'cept draw attention away from Patrick and maybe piss it off."

"Here," Castiel said heavily, appearing out of nowhere, making everyone jump.

"We need to put a bell on you," Dean said, taking the holy oil from him. Sam returned with a bowl, handing it to the now weary angel.

Castiel collapsed in the nearest chair, his hand over his eyes.

"You alright?" Sam asked.

"Out of the country is a little harder than moving around this one. Especially when I have to retrieve even more Holy Oil," he sighed.

"Well, uh," Sam held the bowl out to him. "Could you just, uh, touch this?" The angel leaned his head back in the chair, eyes shut, and held out his hand, snatching the bowl and handing it back to him.

"Did you find the herbs you needed?" He asked.

"Yeah. We had some in the trunk. I thought we were out of Pennyroyal but we've got enough to get by…I think."

"You _think_?" Van Pelt asked, skeptical.

"Look, it's not like we've dealt with the demon of fear before," Dean snapped. "So we're kinda wingin' it."

"That's great," Cho said, cocking the sawn-off. "Winging it always works."

Dean dropped the bits of plant in the bowl, pouring some of the Holy Oil in with it.

"Alright, Sammy, start readin'."

Sam began the incantation, reading from the paper Bobby had e-mailed to them.

"So, this Latin stuff really works?" Rigsby asked.

"Yep," Dean nodded. "Has for forever."

"Who the hell figured that out?" Cho said. Dean shrugged.

"No idea," He said truthfully. "There isn't like, a book or anything with all of this stuff in it. You've gotta pick it up as you go."

"It's amazing you guys get anything done," Van Pelt scoffed. "With that much chaos I'm surprised you guys get this much done." Dean smirked at her.

"Not everything's neat and perfect, sweetheart," Dean said. "And sometimes craziness is the only thing that gets this crap done. That and a crap-ton of luck."

"So your entire line of work is built on winging it?" Cho asked.

"Pretty much, yeah," Dean said proudly.

"Yeah, can't see that blowing up in your face in the near future," he said plainly.

"Alright," Sam said. "That should do it. Dean, light it."

The elder Winchester nodded, taking a Zippo from his pocket and striking it.

He was just about to drop it when the lights started to flicker.

"What was that?" Rigsby asked.

"Son of a bitch," Dean growled, right before he, and everyone else in the room –save Patrick- flew against the walls.

Patrick sat up, wincing, looking around, terrified as the lights continued to flicker and the scanner went haywire, computer screens blinking on and off.

"What's happening?" Lisbon yelled over the blaring radios, confused as to why she couldn't move.

"The demon!" Sam bellowed, fighting uselessly against the invisible restraints it had put on them.

"Cas?" Dean exclaimed, looking over at the tired angel struggling feebly against the wall and gaining nothing. "Aw, damn."

Patrick was waiting for something horrible to happen; for see his wife shrieking that she hated him, his daughter ready to "play" some more, or his father, ready to beat him again.

But then it all stopped. The lights, the computers, the scanner, the radios, all of it, sending an eerie silence through the room.

"Is it gone?" Van Pelt whispered from her spot next to Rigsby on the window of Lisbon's office.

"No," Dean said, struggling as well. "If it was, we'd be on the ground." He glanced at the Zippo lying on the floor at Cho's feet. "Damn it."

"Well, where's-?"

"Minelli?" Lisbon frowned. "What are you doing here?"

"What the hell is going on here?" The older man bellowed, looking up at her, stopping in front of a still petrified Patrick.

"Uh," Lisbon glanced over at Sam and Dean. The man smiled, his eyes rolling back, revealing a pair of white, glowing eyes. The brother's eyes widened.

"I'm just screwing with you," he chortled. His luminescent eyes moved to the brothers. "Howdy boys." He glanced over at Patrick. "And _hello_ Patrick Jane. You and I have been having so much fun, haven't we?" He laughed at Patrick's frightened stare. "Well, now we get to have even more."

-Uh oh! I know, I know. Bad Chloe! Evil cliffie! But you'll have more soon! Promise!-


	19. Red Means Stop

19

**Red Means Stop**

Fear smiled around the room, his eyes resting on Castiel.

"Lost some of that mojo, have we?" He chuckled. Castiel ignored him, struggling still.

_Your Daddy's gone, _a voice hissed inside the angel's head. _He won't help you. He hates you. He would've answered you if didn't, right?_

Castiel shut his eyes, trying to block out the horrible voice, sucking out his hope and drying it up.

Fear grinned and turned to Patrick, keeping the voice in Castiel's head.

"And how are you?" He smirked. Patrick simply stared at him, terrified. "Not talking? Well, I suppose making you scream will suffice." He flicked his wrist.

Patrick screamed, long, loud, bone-chilling. Lisbon doubled her efforts to get down.

Patrick fell back on the couch, back arcing in apparent agony. Tears that he didn't even know he had left streamed down his face, muscles tense, face red, every wound on his body bursting back open while others appeared from nowhere.

"NO! NO, PLEASE! I'm sorry, I'M SORRY!" He shrieked.

"Patrick!" Lisbon yelled. "It's not real! It's not real, it's okay!"

"Shh!" Fear hissed, pinching his fingers together. Her lips kept moving, but no sound came out.

Fear looked at Patrick again, grinning.

"Now this is what I'm talking about," he grabbed a fistful of Patrick's hair, yanking him off the couch and onto the floor, hoisting him to his knees. Fear looked at the onlookers pinned to the walls.

"I've met a _lot_ of people with angst and daddy issues," Fear said, fist still buried in blonde curls. "But this one," he yanked the whimpering man's head, making him look up, "he's just all kinds of screwed up. Aren't you, Patrick?" He stared up at him, lips quivering. "About Red John cutting up your baby?" Patrick groaned, shutting his eyes, face contorted in an agony none of them could understand, sobbing.

"Or maybe your darling wife, who begged and pleaded for your child's life to be spared? Who begged _you_ to quit the psychic gig but _noo_. You couldn't, could you? And now she's dead."

Patrick's sobs were so harsh, so violent he was coughing raggedly. The others could do nothing but stare in horror while Lisbon tried to scream.

"Leave him alone, you son of a bitch!" Dean growled. Sam's head whipped toward his brother.

"Dean, don't!" He begged quietly.

Fear looked at the elder Winchester, amused.

"Have some fun with Daddy," he whispered, mouth next to Patrick's ear before letting him fall to the ground.

Patrick shook his head, whimpering frantically, shaking his head, curling into a ball on the floor.

"No, no, no…please…it hurts. No, no, don't do that!"

"Patrick," Lisbon tried to say, wishing with everything she had that she could go to him.

"Mmnn!" Patrick whimpered, sobbing.

Fear walked over to Dean, still smirking. "Think you're tough, huh? Think I can't scare you?"

"You don't scare me more than a girl-scout, pal," he smirked. Fear grinned.

"How's this for girl-scout?" He cocked his head.

Dean went white, eyes growing to the size of saucers.

"Dean?"

"Sammy," he shuddered.

"Dean?" Sam whispered.

Now Dean was screaming. He seemed blind-sighted by the anguish that overwhelmed him. He fell to the ground, curling into himself, eyes shut tight.

"_SAAAAM_!"

"DEAN!" Sam bellowed.

"_SAMMY! HELP MEEEEEEEE_!" He shrieked, tears streaming down his face, horrible gashes and bruises appearing all over his body.

"LEAVE HIM ALONE!"

"You want a taste too, Sammy?" Fear grinned.

"GAHUH! AHHNNN!" Sam fell next to his brother. The agents' eyes were wide as the stared at the two hunters and their colleague.

Castiel fell next, his own nightmares intensifying.

"No, NO!" He begged, face in his hands. "Please, please, NO!"

Fear shut his eyes, taking a deep breath. "Ah…" he sighed. "Now that's good." He looked at the rest on the walls. "Would you all like to see what it's like?"

He laughed as they all fell, screaming, shrieking, shaking, crying.

Van Pelt was trembling violently, mumbling incoherently, shaking her head. Rigsby had his arms around her, protecting her almost, sobbing into her hair. Lisbon had her hands over her ears, eyes clenched shut, tears leaking from under her closed lids.

Cho was simply leaning against the wall, his eyes closed, barely moving at all. He might've been sleeping.

Patrick was just getting worse and worse, sobbing so hard he was throwing up blood.

"Ahhh… How wonderful all of this tastes. Better than anything I've ever felt. You all are just full of this, aren't you?"

He shut his eyes, sighing.

He heard a click a moment later.

He opened his eyes, frowning.

Cho was holding the lit Zippo, his eyes hard. Fear's eyes grew.

"How?"

"I learned a long time ago that you have to face what you're afraid of. And I'm not afraid of you." He dropped the lighter into the bowl, igniting the oil and herbs.

Now it was Fear's turn to scream. The entire room rumbled as a terrible red light ignited within him. Slowly the light pushed out of his mouth, illuminating the whole room in harsh light that made Cho turn away.

Windows shook and shattered, lights and computer monitors went haywire once more. Black smoke and red light flew from his mouth and eyes, arms thrown behind him, face turned toward the sky. Cho covered his face as the smoke went toward the sky and disappeared.

Minelli fell to the ground, demon free.


	20. Fresh Blood

-To all reviews I didnt answer I apologize profusely. Thank you all so much! It's been a hellish week, and Im sorry. Accept my peace offering in chapter form :)-

20

**Fresh Blood**

The room was still, eerily so. Nothing moved, no sound was made, just pure and utter silence.

Lisbon broke it, letting out a long, relieved sigh. Everyone else seemed to remember how to move after that. Cho leaned against the back wall, shutting his eyes, breathing slowly. Rigsby let go of Van Pelt as she started to get up, keeping a hand on her shoulder. She nodded, signaling that she was alright.

Sam sat up, breathing shakily. He looked over at his brother.

Dean's face was still in his hands, still huddled over his knees, shaking. He made no sound, and that scared Sam more than if he'd been screaming.

"Dean?" He carefully put his hand on his shoulder. Dean whimpered, tensing and drawing closer into himself. "No…"

"Dean, are you okay? Can you hear me?" Sam gently coaxed his face up. Dean's eyes met his, bloodshot and bleary.

"Sammy?" He said quietly. Sam's qualms were confirmed. Fear had thrown Dean back into Hell.

"I'm here, Dean, it's alright. Shh…" He pulled him into a hug.

"I'm alright," he breathed shakily. "I'm okay. Ch-check on Cas." Sam looked down at the blood on his hands, bile in his throat. "Dean-"

"Check on Cas," he barked. Sam gently –reluctantly- leaned him against the wall and went to the unconscious angel. He placed two fingers on his neck, checking for some sort of pulse. A weak beat presented itself after a moment.

"Cas, Cas, wake up," he said, shaking his shoulder lightly. Castiel's eyes peeled open. He looked up at Sam groggily. "Are you alright?"

"I'm weak." His voice was strained and it sounded like it hurt to speak. "I'm very weak. I…I can't move."

"You gonna be okay?" He asked warily. The angel nodded.

"Eventually, yes." He looked over his shoulder at Dean. "He needs your help. He's injured."

"He told me to make sure you were alright." Castiel rolled his eyes.

"I'm fine. Help him."

Lisbon bolted to Patrick, who was shaking and crying on the floor. She gently lifted him into her arms, holding him close. He sobbed helplessly, blood on his lips, face bruised. His eyes were beyond bloodshot, popped blood vessels dotting an unknown pattern behind his irises, making that brilliant blue stand out even more.

"Shh, shh, shh, it's alright, Patrick. Shh, it's okay. It's over now, shh. Hush, hush, it's okay," she soothed. He whimpered, curling against her, hiding his face in her chest.

"P-please, please, I-"

"Shh, they can't hurt you anymore, honey. It's over, it's over now. Shh."

"No m-more…" He begged. She shook her head.

"No more, they're not gonna hurt you anymore. It'll be alright." She rocked him gently, kissing his forehead.

Minelli sat up with a start, gasping. He looked around for a moment, at everyone. "WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON?" Dean winced at the sudden outburst; Patrick whimpered again, burying his face deeper in Lisbon's shirt.

"Sir," Cho said, snapping out of his daze and walking toward him. "If we could discuss this in your office-"

"Not in my office, Cho, what the-"

"Sir," Cho said firmly, silencing the older man in a second. "I will explain everything that's going on. But not here. Jane's been through enough without more chaos around him. Now please, let's talk in your office."

Minelli nodded, for reasons he wasn't quite sure of and followed him to his office.

Sam was looking Dean over, ignoring his protests and trying to make sure he was alright.

"Sammy, I'm- Gah!" He tensed and jerked away when Sam touched a bloody spot on his ribs. Sam glared at him pointedly.

"Shut up," Dean gasped through gritted teeth. Sam pursed his lips. He couldn't tell just how bad he was hurt through the many layers of shirts, but it had to be bad. Dean was putting on a good front, but then again he always did.

"Dean, knock it off," Sam said gently. Dean stared at him, jaw flexed. He wasn't angry, he was holding back pain. He looked over at Lisbon.

"We can take 'em in my office," she said. Sam nodded. He looked at Dean and Castiel, wondering if this was going to turn out okay.

* * *

"Sammy, I can do it," Dean grunted.

"Dean, shut up and hold still." He could see it in Dean's eyes that he'd gone through more than the rest of them. And he was right. Fear had a hold of them all for ten minutes. But Hell time and normal time are far from the same. Ten minutes for them, ten hours for Dean.

"Ow," Dean hissed softly as the peroxide-filled rag touched his bloody skin.

"Sorry," Sam muttered, not meeting his eyes. He sewed up whatever needed to be, wrapped and covered his black and blue ribs. Dean barely made a sound, and even if he did it was small and quiet.

"Guh." Dean shut his eyes, tight, biting his lip.

"Shh, it's okay," Sam soothed. He unzipped Dean's duffel, fishing out clean clothes. Dean sat up painstakingly, ignoring his brother's protests.

"Don't even think about it," he grunted, snatching his bag. "I can do it."

Castiel was asleep on a pallet in the corner, face buried in a pillow, clutching his trench coat tightly around him, face partially hidden by the blanket draped over him.

Dean changed under his own blanket, ignoring the agony that continually flared through him.

"Dean, be careful, you're gonna tear your stitches."

"Shut up, Mom," he looked over his shoulder. "Go help him."

Patrick was lying on the couch, his whole body, inside and out, in pain. His throat was on fire, heart severed and wracked, mind a jumbled mess, like static on a T.V. screen.

"Shh, hush, hush, it's alright. It's gonna be okay," Lisbon soothed, brushing curls back. He shut his eyes.

"A-are they alright now?" He shuddered. "M-my wife and d-daughter, are th-they okay?" Lisbon nodded sadly, smiling a little.

"They're just fine, honey."

Sam stood behind her, first-aid kit in hand.

"Why aren't we taking them to a hospital?" Rigsby asked.

"Wayne, you can't explain this to a doctor," Van Pelt said quietly. "They'll lock all of us up if we tell them the truth. And I think Sam can do just fine."

Lisbon stood, letting Sam take her place.

"Alright, Patrick, hold still. I'm not gonna hurt you. It won't take long, it'll be alright."

He was as careful as he could be, apologizing over and over.

There was a lot of blood and bruises, but he'd be alright. He kept shaking, trembling violently. He wasn't cold. He was terrified, the fear of his father still in the front of his mind. Countless beatings and thrashings. He'd been thrown down the stairs once or twice, head shoved under water. Utterly abused, and it was even worse if he didn't perform as well as he could've, if he didn't make the old man the money he wanted.

He shuddered again.

"It's alright," Sam soothed. "Just a little longer."

He covered him back up when everything was over, letting Lisbon sit back down.

Patrick was still trembling, tears seeping painfully out of his eyes.

"It'll be alright."

"I'm tired," he gulped. "I'm so tired."

"Go to sleep, honey. Just go to sleep. Rest." He let his eyes close, praying that those horrible dreams would let him be for just one night, er, well, dawn.

Lisbon sighed when sleep finally came to him, her hand on her forehead, still a little shaky herself.

"He'll deny all of this when he wakes up," she said softly. Sam nodded, looking over at his now unconscious brother. Even in sleep his face was contorted in unseen pain. Sam frowned, his lips pursed.

"So will he."


	21. Blood Oath

21

**Blood Oath**

"Mm, mm, no," Dean groaned, face contorting in pain. "No, please…Sa-am…Sammy…God, Alastair please!"

"Dean, Dean, wake up!" Sam shook him lightly, worry in his eyes.

"Sammy, help me," he begged, voice cracking. Sam's heart followed suit. "No, no it hurts, please!"

"Dean!"

Dean's eyes snapped open, his breath coming in gasps. A tear leaked from one of his eyes as he squinted against the bright sunlight. "Sammy…"

"Shh, Dean, I'm here, I'm right here. Shh…" He scooped Dean into a hug, trying to get him back to sleep before he came to his senses and jerked away.

"Sam," he choked.

"Shh, go to sleep, go back to sleep."

"Wh-what time is it?"

"About noon. You've only slept for about three hours, go back to bed." He lied him back down, rubbing his forehead. "Shh, sleep, Dean. Go to sleep."

"Sammy, please!"

"Shh…" He gently pushed him back down. "I'm here, I'm right here. He can't hurt you if I'm here, okay? It's okay, Dean. Shh…"

"Y-you were never here before," Dean whimpered, still too asleep to fully comprehend what he was saying. Sam felt another kick in his gut.

"I know, I know," he said, smiling a little. "But, I'm here now, okay? Go back to sleep, Dean. It'll be better when you wake up." Slowly, Dean's eyes fluttered closed, his hand in a vice in Sam's, knuckles white. "I'm not gonna leave you again, Dean. I'm gonna stay right here."

Lisbon was still with Patrick, absently stroking his curls back, praying with all her might that he would be okay.

* * *

He looked around. The place was quiet, peaceful, but he had no idea where he was. Fog rolled around his legs, the sunlight warm on his face. There was no pain here. No tears. No blood. No Red John. Just peace. Beautiful peace.

"Patrick." He turned.

"Castiel?" He frowned. The angel stood before him, looking no different than he usually did. Well, he didn't look nearly as tired as he had before. "What are you doing here?"

"You need to see something," he said. "Do you know where you are?" Patrick looked around. There was nothing here. Absolutely nothing. Just the sky, the horizon, and the fog. He shook his head.

"This is what you once thought of as Heaven. In your mind, it is. Therefore, to you, it is." A thin drip of blood started to come from the angel's nose. "We can't be here long. I'm dying."

Patrick's eyes grew. "Why are we here?" He stammered.

He got his answer a moment later.

A warm hand touched his shoulder. "Patrick?"

He spun around.

She was beautiful. Her bright smile, warm eyes. He kissed her without another second's hesitation, hugging her. This is how he wanted to see her. This felt right, this felt like her.

"Baby, what are you doing here?" She smiled.

"Daddy!" She was running at him, grinning ear to ear, curls bouncing in their pigtails. He knelt down, catching her, smiling, tears rolling down his cheeks, standing with her in his arms, swinging her around. "What'chu doin', Daddy? Mommy, you said Daddy wouldn't be here for long time!"

"He isn't staying," Castiel said, his knees shaking.

"Hey, there, princess," Patrick smiled, kissing her cheek. "You look absolutely beautiful." The little girl giggled.

"I missed you, Daddy."

"I-I missed you too, sweetheart."

"Patrick…" Castiel croaked, his whole body trembling.

His wife touched his face. "I don't blame you, baby," she whispered. "It wasn't your fault." She kissed him softly, hugging him close. "I'll miss you."

"C-can't I stay here?" He asked quietly. She smiled knowingly.

"Not yet. It's not your time yet, okay? And don't try to get up here quicker, either. I love you."

"I love you too."

"Goodbye, Daddy." He smiled at his child, sniffing.

"Goodbye, sweetie."

Castiel literally fell into him. A second later and he was back in that interrogation room, more at peace than he had been in a long, long time.

* * *

Castiel was in horrible pain. That had nearly killed him. His breath was ragged and wet, but he was happy he did it. Patrick Jane might be able to have a peaceful night sleep now.

"Cas?" Sam exclaimed, going to him. "Cas, what the hell happened?" The angel smiled a little, despite his pain.

"I think I did something right for once."

* * *

Both Sam and Lisbon were right. When Patrick and Dean woke up the following morning they denied that anything was bothering them at all.

"Sam, I'm fine, don't say it again," Dean growled. Sam sighed, dropping the subject.

It took Castiel a little longer to heal completely, and once he did, Sam and Dean knew they'd more than outstayed their welcome in Sacramento and needed to get the hell out of there.

"We don't know how to thank you," Van Pelt said. Dean smirked.

"Just lookin' at you's enough, sweetheart," he winked. She and Sam rolled their eyes. Rigsby cracked his knuckles.

"If you guys ever need anything," Sam said, handing Lisbon a phone number. "Just give us a call." She nodded.

"Rigsby, nice meetin' ya," Dean said, shaking his hand. "Cho," he raised his fist. Cho reciprocated. "Stay awesome." Cho nodded curtly.

"Nice meeting you all," Sam said. The others nodded.

"See you around," Patrick said, shaking Dean's hand. "And if you ever want to talk about those issues with your father-"

"Never gonna happen."

Patrick shrugged, grinning. "Worth a shot." Castiel walked with Sam toward the car, still tired.

Dean sighed, looking at Lisbon. "Alright, just because I _know_ you're begging for it." He grabbed her waist, yanking him to him and kissing her. His lips were gentle, slowly. Lisbon gasped, freezing for a moment before melting in his arms.

"Damn," Cho said, handing Patrick a twenty. Patrick pocketed it, grinning.

"Bye, sweetheart," Dean whispered, letting her go.

She stood there, smiling stupidly, cheeks pinked.

Dean smiled, satisfied with himself and got into the Impala.

"Bye, Castiel!" Van Pelt called, smiling a fraction. Rigsby's eyes grew as he looked at her. Patrick grinned again.

"Damn." Cho handed him another twenty.

The car started with a roar, rumbling down the street, both brothers giving a final wave before disappearing down the road.

"Think Dean'll be alright?"

"Oh yeah," Patrick said. "Give it a week and he'll drink it away."

"By the way," Lisbon said, turning to Cho. "Thanks for saving our asses." Patrick grinned.

"I've said it once, I'll say it again," Patrick grinned, dimples huge. "Ain't no business like Cho business."

"Well I'm out forty bucks so I guess I should step it up a little."

Patrick sighed. "So, tea anyone?" He stepped back into the office building, Van Pelt and Rigsby in tow.

"Keep an eye on him, would ya?" She asked quietly. Cho nodded shortly.

"No need, Lisbon, I'm fine!" Patrick called. She shook her head.

Well, at least things were back to normal.

**THE**

**END**

-It's been a helluva ride, folks and I thank everyone that read and reviewed. Hope to hear from you all again and thank you SOOO much! God Bless and happy reading!-


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